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LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two CoDies Received 

APR 4 isor 

Copyrtffht Entry 

cUiA.2., Hfoy 

cuss «- XXc, No. 

/7Z93G 



TS3^37 



Copyright, 1907 

BY 
MRS. LAURA SESSIONS 



All Rights Reserved 



My Son and Daughter: 

I dedicate this book 

to you. 

I regret that to those I love so dearly 

I can bring only this little 

Wayside Flower. 



'^ . 

QUESTIONS. 

Melodious brook, I have found you, 
Half hidden beneath pendent grasses; 

Are red willows growing around you , 
To whip naughty wee lads and lassies? 

Or growing like so many baskets 

To carry your beautiful fishes? 
O, where are your jewel-weed's caskets? 

Are king's cups and lichen your dishes? 

What elf with her shears has been snipping 
Your peppermint leaves round the edges? 

And why is the humming-bird lipping 
The flowers then away to the hedges? 

iWho painted with magical brushes 
The clovers in colors so mellow. 

Then limned the hang-nest in the bushes 
A-fire with the oriole's yellow?, 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

How green are the sweet-rushes growing, 
Where shining marsh marigolds perished; 

,Why smiling down dell are you going 
Unmindful of things you once cherished? 

Spring beauty and arbutus laded 

Your vale in their sweet fleeting season, 

You mourn not because they are faded, 
Bright brook, will you tell me the reason? 

O, where is the rabbit that passes 

You leaping, his great eyes a blinking. 

While zigzaging on through the grasses 
The fox of your water falls drinking. 

Do cows chew their cud 'neath yon spruces, 
Through all of the soft summer weather? 

While sheep find stray tidbits and juices, 
Do both thread the steep path together? 

The sheep coming down for your daisies? 

The kine coming down for your clover? 
Like poets do birds sing your praises. 

And then sing them over and over? 

Do fairies live here in your dingle? 

I hush, and I lift not a finger. 
While sweet woodland melodies mingle, 

Enthralled, I just listen and linger. 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

ONLY A RED RIBBON. 

Two merry girls were talking low 
Of buying ribbon for a bow. 

And Bessie said, 

It should be red. 
And Minnie answered, I think so. 

Now Nellie Gale was passing by 
And heard the question and reply, 

Bess' got a beau. 

Can that be so ? 
I'll go and tell old Mrs. Nye. 

And so she told old Mrs. Nye 
That she the girls were passing by 

And Minnie said. 

You're going to wed? 
And Bessie answered, I think so. 

Then Mrs. Nye told Mrs. Lee, 
But said a secret it must be, 

I promised Nell 

I wouldn't tell. 
And so, dear, you must promise me. 

But Mrs. Lee told Mrs. Brown, 

And so 'twas whispered through the town ; 

Some one told me. 

And so you see. 
In black and white 'tis written down. 

3 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

That silly Bess has got a beau, 
How strange, before you didn't know, 

And she's engaged. 

Her pa's enraged. 
And to the wedding will not go. 

But Bess has been to Mrs. Lake, 
The dressmaker who's going to make 

The wedding dress. 

And willful Bess 
Is making her own wedding cake. 

There, here it is, yes, word for word, 
As 'twas the last time that I heard. 

With ribbon red 

Bess decks her head. 
Nor dreams of gossip quite absurd. 



ISABEL. 

Oh, cold, cold, clay! 

To its earth bed departed. 
With it the brightest hopes decay 

Of parents broken-hearted. 

O, fresh blown Flower ! 

So lowly, lowly lying. 
You'll meet no more that bitter hour, 

The agony of dying. 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

To Heaven sweet 

Through dark waves intervening, 
You walked with swift unwav'ring feet 

Upon the Saviour leaning. 

Night grows apace, 

And tender requiem fingers, 
While in your sweet, accustomed place, 

Only a mem'ry lingers. 

Aweary tears 

Bring our sad frames to slumber, 
We live again the happy years 

When you were of our number. 

We wake to weep 

O'er earthly bands now riven, 
But, Oh ! to-night the blessed sleep 

To your sweet spirit's given. 

"Night," did I say? 

There is no night in Heaven ; 
Only one sweet and endless day. 

The fairest of the seven. 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

THE CHILDREN'S FAIR. 

Chorus. 

Welcome to the fair! 

Tra la, la, la, la, la, la. 
Welcome to the fair ! 

Tra la, la, la, la, la. 

We've pop corn and peanuts, 

And candies to sell, 
We've ice cream and cake, 

And a doll-tree as well. 

Chorus. 

We've aprons to market, 
And fancy things gay, 
We've a gypsy who'll tell you 
Your fortune for pay. 

Chorus. 

We'll read to you poems. 

We'll play, and we'll sing, 
And the flower girls will sell you 

The beauties of spring. 

Welcome to the fair! 

Tra la, la, la, la, la, la. 
Welcome to the fair! 

Tra la, la, la, la, la. 
Welcome to the fair! 
Welcome to the fair ! 

6 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 
THE POET'S DEATH. 

I follow. Earth, sung shining Mars, 
My cycle fair and speed away; 

Thou wilt return, O, Queen of Stars, 
Whose nights are beautiful as day. 

I change thee. World, the poet sung, 
For fairer land. His happy words 

From earth to Heaven in music rung. 
Dulcet as mellow notes of birds. 

Then he who could so sweetly sing, 
Lay down his harp without a sigh. 

And calmly waited Death to bring 
His beauties and his glory nigh. 

O, hearken ! dimpling waves that smile 
And thread the "needles" on the shore, 

Soft cradle his beloved isle. 

That he leaves lonely evermore. 

O, Moon! bestow thy tenderest light, 
O, dear ones, sweet submission show. 

O, Nature ! bid him fond good-night. 
And let his gentle spirit go. 

Farewell, loved bard; but such a star 
Shines brighter in the distant sky. 

Thou'lt live in songs; their missions are 
To soothe, to charm, and never die. 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



THE POOR POET'S DREAM. 

I sat down in my easy chair to take a cozy nap 
When 'gainst my chamber door there came a 

most tremendous rap 
And straightway in the sheriff walked and took 

me by the hand 
While saying, "I arrest you. Miss — and you're 

at my command," 
And so forth — since I'm not a law-book, can't 

tell what he said 
Verbatim; but I somehow got the substance in 

my head. 
Which was, that I, instead of writing in my 

leisure times, 
Must answer to the grave offense of stealing 

others' rhymes; 
And while I stood conniving how this dreadful 

charge to meet. 
He calmly put my arm in his and marched me 

down the street. 
The next I knew I found myself within, the 

prisoner's chair; 
The judge and jury seated were, the crowd with 

haughty air 
Passed by, sat down, and then commenced my 

wicked face to scan. 
At last, when silence reigned supreme, the trial 

thus began: 

8 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

The plaintiff's lawyer took my rhymes and laid 

them in a row, 
Which the said plaintiff vowed he knew were 

published long ago. 
"Your literary thieving's gone unpunished long 

enough, 
Miss," said the lawyer; then he paused to take 

a pinch of snuff. 
'Twas then my poems stood up straight and 

walking hand in hand, 
I saw them cross the court room floor and mount 

the witness' stand ; 
The lawyer then essayed to speak, but ended in 

a 2ough; 
The wise old judge put on his spec's and then 

he took them off ; 
He could not quite believe those spec's nor yet 

believe his eyes, 
So there he and the people sat and stared in 

mute surprise. 
Indeed, to see those little rhymes, from shining 

black and white, 
Change into walking, talking ones was quite a 

novel sight. 
And now in concert they began to loudly testify. 
They said It tried their tempers some to hear the 

plaintiff's lie. 
"Miss Hooker makes her poems, sirs, endeav- 
oring to do 
Her very best, that is not theft, we think, and 

so should you; 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

That she composed us ev'ry one is truth, if truth 

can be, 
And that the poems ought to know, the jury will 

agree." 
The plaintiff was chagrined at this, his lawyer 

in a fury. 
One poem doubled up its fist and shook it at 

the jury. 
The judge turned pale, the jury rose, and in a 

moment more 
Judge, jury, lawyer, plaintiff, all fled backward 

out the door. 

'Twas then it chanced that I awoke and found 

I'd had a nap, 
While Tabitha, the old white cat sat purring in 

my lap. 

NIGHT. J 

Day, its white wings softly folds, 

O'er its shining breast, 
'Tis that silvered cloud of gold 

Burning in the west. 
Hearken, while its gleaming light 

Turns to twilight's gray. 
Can you hear the coming night 

Greet the going day? 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Welcome, Night, thy hand so dear 

Drops the tender dew. 
Lights the starry chandelier 

In the distant blue ; 
Welcome. All with weary feet, 

All that mourn or sigh 
Fall asleep. They're cradled sweet 

By thy lullaby. 



IN REMEMBRANCE. 

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, 
Merry, merry Christmas eve; 

Numberless its gifts, its treasures. 
That so many hearts receive. 

They've received them sweet and precious 

Ever since to starlit place 
Did the Eastern pilgrims hasten, 

Till they saw the Saviour's face. 

And 'tis custom fair and olden, 
Growing with the rolling years, 

That we gather at our firesides 
Gladdened with their Christmas cheer. 

Twas so with us e'er we parted, 

Happy little girls and boys. 
Yearly in our home we gathered 

Round our "tree," to share its joys. 
X3l 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Father, mother, and the children, 

Vacant not a single place. 
Till the "booful bawn" eyes left us, 

And we saw no more her face. 

Grown at last to men and women, 
One by one we took our leave ; 

But we always were returning 
Ev'ry Merry Christmas eve. 

Now adown from Heaven bending, 
With her wistful, sweet brown eyes, 

Was a maiden calling, calling, 
"Lucy, meet me in the skies." 

Still we gathered, though so chastened, 
We were sure our dead would grieve. 

If we did not have our Christmas, 
Merry, Merry Christmas eve. 

Thus again untiring fingers 

Added to the Christmas store; 
Hearken! Did you hear that summons. 

Father, darling, at the door? 

Yes, I heard it; I am ready. 

We had found him on his knees, 
Gath'ring strength to ford Death's river, 

Old time sailor of the seas.* 

*J. C Hooker, a sailor. 



ONLY. 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Then we cried, O, God, who giveth, 
God who takes, to thee we yield 

Dear old father, calm and steady, 
Ripened grain of harvest field. 

But too soon the sky o'ershadowed, 
Gloomed the room wherein he lay. 
When we said, ah, he will leave us 
Silently at close of day. 

Father, dear, of deep affection. 

Faithful friend of council wise. 
Patient bearer of your burdens, 

Waken, say your fond good-byes. 

Suddenly, through rift the sunshine 
Radiance poured on sacred sight, 

He awoke and bade his children 
Such a fond and long good-night 

Ah! that eve our "tree" was missing, 

Dainty gifts forgotten quite. 
In that room his dead form lying; 

Lonely, lonely Christmas night. 

Years come forward with thy labor. 
Years roll onward with thy tears, 

For we know there is a solace 
LWith the ending of the years. 

13 . 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Tis a story sweet and holy 
Of that port, that Son lit place, 

Where all weary sailors landing. 
Meet the Saviour face to face. 

On that smiling shore we'll meet Him, 
Reaching out His hands He'll say. 

Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, 
Merry, Merry Christmas day. 



E^ 



THE ORCHARD SONG. 

'Neath sunny sky 

The soft spring breeze 
Tripped through the orchard bloom; 

My love and I 

Walked 'midst the trees. 
And breathed the sweet perfume. 

Wilt wed me, Bess? 

A little bird 
Then sang its roundelay; 

She answered, yes. 

And no one heard 
But bird on apple spray. 



14 



ONLV A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

When shall it be — 

Our wedding day? 
Bird tipped its head to hear. 

When bloom from tree 

On ground doth lay, 
I'll send you word, my dear. 

In yonder room 

My love lies dead, 
She'll send no message sweet; 

While apple bloom 

Above my head. 
Falls snow-like at my feet. 



THE PANSY SONG. 

My songs are sung ; 'tis time to cease all singing, 
For Autumn's scythe has mown the trees quite 
bare ; 

And Indian Summer's dried the golden harvest 
That late October gathers everywhere. 

The summer birds have flown, the sweets are 
garnered. 
Flower life has vanished with a footstep light ; 
At early dawn the first sad snow comes falling 
To wrap the dead things in their shrouds of 
white. 



13 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

A cheerless dawn: What is there more to 
cherish ! 

My saddened eye looks wistful all around; 
When lo! a purple song that must not perish, 

Doth strew its velvet sweetness o'er the ground. 

The beckoning pansies call ; with chilling fingers 
I fill my basket brimming, with delight. 

Good-by, dear Snow, I hear the Pansies whisper, 
Good-by, sweet Pansies, answer flowerets 
white. 

For earth God cares, it doth not lack complete- 
ness, 
Our lives He shares and He will ne'er for- 
sake; 
Our rooms, our hearts. He'll fill with ling'ring 
sweetness, 
O sweet, sweet song the purple pansies make. 



THE NEW LESSON. 

You must say Will, the newly turned leaf said, 
When you address him — from Time book I 

read — 
He's left his boyhood; my beloved son, 
Cease saying Willie, he is twenty-one. 

16 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

How hard the lesson ; I the leaves turn o'er 
To early pages I have conned before, 
Those of his babyhood, all writ with joy, 
My fond heart called him then my velvet boy. 

How eagerly I scan his pictured face, 
His dimpled cheek, so velvety, I trace. 
With old time fondness round my finger curls 
His silken ringlets, fair as any girl's. 

To other pages still my mem'ry strays. 

To bright kaleidoscope of childhood days. 

To sweet canary, and to cooing doves. 

And all the darlings that his childhood loves. 

I kiss him often, find his book and slate. 

school-boy, hasten or you will be late. 
How deeply written all those vanished years, 

1 turn the leaves 'way e'er they're wet with tears. 

boyhood days, the blocks that build the man. 
With mother carefulness their strength I scan, 

1 watch the building and 'tis solid, true, 
I call him manly, and it is his due. 

I will say Will and my new lesson learn. 

So to the new leaf fondly I return, 

But lift my eyes, dear ship with outspread sails, 

O guide it Lord, whose guidance never fails. 



17 



ONLY A WAYSlDn FLOWER 

LOTTIE AND THE LILIES. 

Muse, O write me one sweet song, 
Come I lack of skill confessing ; 
And the goddess, acquiescing. 
Dipped a heron feather pen 
Midst the wild rose's petals then. 

And she wrote me this dear song: 
Boat across the still lake going, 
With my fair-haired daughter rowing. 
While the dripping paddles play 
Winsome melody in spray. 

Boat glide carefully along, 
For thou art with treasure laden, 
Safely bear my blue eyed maiden 
Down the lake to yon green isle 
Where the sweet pond lilies smile. 

Interlude hath this sweet song, 
'Tis where waiting sunlight's glancing. 
Beauty of the lake enhancing. 
Hidden yonder dainty sight, 
Lily gath'ring lilies white. 

Then my heart takes up the song. 
With a mother's fond insistence ; 
Boat returning in the distance, 
Fairest picture it doth make. 
Dancing homeward 'cross the lake. 

18 



ONLY. 'A WAYSIDE 'FLOWER 

Artist, could you paint this song, 
Cloudless sky and rippling water. 
And the sweet face of my daughter. 
As she comes with dripping oar 
Rowing closely to the shore ? 

Fragrant ending of the song. 
Maiden to the mooring lifting. 
Boat with white pond lilies drifting; 
Stayed the heron feather pen 
Midst the wild rose's petals then. 



A HALLOWEEN SPRITE. 

This funny sprite 
Comes round at night 

Upon his visit annual 
On Halloween; 
He is not seen. 

So sly his labors manual. 

This sprite has traits 
That caused the gates 

To turn to-night pedestrians; 
"Saw horse" and saw 
Then too have maw 

To do queer feats equestrian. 

19 



ONLY. 'A WAYSIDE T.LOWER 

A cart with load 
That seeks the road. 

Nor longs for heights ridiculous, 
November first. 
Is at its worst 

On some one's roof conspicuous. 

A man I know 
Said yes, or no, 

For gain to please so sedulous; 
His "make believe" 
Did quite deceive 

And flattered all the credulous. 

On heydeguy 

This sprite went by 

And spied this man internally; 
The angry sprite 
Then clasped him tight 

And danced with him infernally. 

He was shook out 
And tossed about 

Till his demise seemed eminent; 
The sprite he laughed 
With goblin craft 

He made this man a penitent. 

His smooth round face. 
That took such pace 

That he "saw stars" tangentially, 

00 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Declared he would 
Be really good, 

Now he walks providentially. 



PEACE, BE STILL. 

Gentle Sailor on the sacred deep, 
Pillowed sweetly in untroubled sleep, 
Waves engulf us, and the wind is high, 
Waken, Master, Master, for we die. 

Wondrous Captain of the ship arose 
Chid the tempest to a quick repose. 
"Peace, be still," He said. On Galilee 
Waves sank softly to a glassy sea. 

Come serenely, O Majestic form. 
Bear us safely through the bitter storm 
Seas all follow thy beneficent will — 
Calm our spirits with thy "Peace, be still." 

ATTENTION. 

The master's spelling class was long 
And taxed the room's dimension; 

But all the spellers big and small 
Bowed at his word "Attention." 



21 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

For that all pupils toe the mark, 
With spinal cords expanded, 

To make their simultaneous nods 
His equity demanded. 

Now, Sam was tallest of his class 
His hair was red and curly, 

His eyes of steely blue bespoke 
A disposition knurly; 

And at recess and during school 
Sam's pranks annoyed the master. 

But were so guileful and so sly 
He long deferred disaster. 

So Sam, emboldened by his luck 
And punishment's suspension. 

Did greet one day with jointless neck 
The master's word "attention." 

"Attention, class, I now repeat," 
The master said with feeling; 

But Sam he held his head aloft 
And gazed up to the ceiling. 

"Attention, Sam," the master cried 
With indignation trembling; 

But Sam he stood as stiff and still 
A statue quite resembling. 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

The master's lips drew o'er his teeth 
With much unnatural tension, 

And round the school room passed a glance 
Of tacit apprehension. 

But Sam he seemed to be at ease, 
His eyes while upward twinkling 

Gave not the slightest questioning glance 
'Twas then without an inkling 

On Sam's shirt covered back there fell 

The sound of heavy labor. 
The master's ferule seemed indued 

With sharpness of a saber. 

And at that quick, decisive blow 
Sam stood agape, astounded, 

While sharp throughout the school room air 
The sudden blow resounded. 



And Sam, who's head had been so long 

And fixedly contrary. 
Made bows so gracefully and well 

They seemed involuntary. 

And snakish like adown the class 

A laughing ague riggled, 
And other pupils at their books 

Behind the covers giggled. 



23 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

But quaking Sam spelled all his words 

With unaccustomed vigor. 
Ne'er to forget in all his life 

That dis'plinarians rigor. 



ON THE OCEAN OF LIFE. 

The Ocean of Life seemed placid and mild 
As closely I rowed to the shore when a child. 
I saw not its waves, I heard not its roar. 
And knew only safety and peace by the shore. 
Above me the sky was as bright and as blue 
As violets sparkling 'neath silvery dew. 
And never a shadow came into my heart 
To linger since sunshine soon made it depart; 
But ambition came, and I longing to be 
Solving the mysteries out on the sea 
With Hope at the helm and a heart light and gay, 
Hoisted the anchor and sailed from the bay. 

I knew of no treacherous, rugged reefs form, 
Nor knew that a calm was the promise of storm ; 
I knew not that clouds would envelope the sky, 
Nor that the wild winds would so fiercely sweep 

by; 
Nor dreamed that the waves of dark sorrow and 

strife 
Would dash round my ship in the tempest of life. 

34 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

But, ah! I have found on the turbulent wave 
Of th' Ocean of Life that th' heart must be brave, 
That Hope at the helm must be steady and slow, 
And Care mark the dangerous reefs oft below ; 
That when the dark billows dash over the deck 
One's faith must be strong or his ship be a wreck. 



THE DREAM ROSE. 

While another 'round sweet Myrtle 

Did a tender vigil keep, 
Weary with incessant watching, 

I, the nurse, lay down to sleep. 

Lightly sleeping, sleep is always 
Filling with the thoughts of day, 

And I stood beside the window 
In the room where Myrtle lay. 

Ne'er on earth has artist painted 
Such a rose on canvas blue, 

'Bove his misty clouds of veil-land 
With the warm sun shining through 

As the dainty rose which drifted 
From the azure over head. 

Through the open window floating. 
Poising 'bove our darling's head. 



35 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Then the rose shook out its petals, 
With its fragrance filled the air, 

Flutt'ring downward, lower flutt'ring, 
Till it touched the maiden's hair. 

Not as bird, a little weary. 

Rests, aerial journey done. 
But as though our darling's sweetness 

Had the rose's affections won. 

Then to her it whispered stilly; 
Was my presence needed there? 

white rose, o'er dying lily. 
Thou hast interposed thy care. 

Sweet dream rose, what is thy message? 

Thou didst whisper in her ear ; 
What her answer? though I listened 

Since of earth I could not hear. 

White, white rose, what is thine errand? 
"Pillowed 'mongst my petals fair 

1 will bear her gentle spirit 

'Way from earthly pain and care." 

Yet the dream rose seemed to linger 

Tenderly above the clay. 
Was 't a dream? but it is real 

That our darling's gone away. 

26 



ONLY A WAYSIDE PLOWER 

THE OLD MAN'S REVERIE. 

Murmur, O Sea, of the long, long ago, 
Flow, O ye Tide of my memory, flow ; 
Silence the loneliness chilling my heart. 
While I an hour from the present depart; 
Tenderly, softly, O, Tide, thou art tossed. 
Over the graves of the loved and the lost. 

Now 'neath thy ripples are visioned the blue 

Eyes of my darling. Her heart is as true 

As e'er has been heart true, with love beating 

fast 
Midst all of the sorrow and joy of the past. 
See that bright wave that is glistening there, 
It is the gleam of her tresses of hair ; 
Wee baby Agnes, cheeks dimpled with glee. 
Lies on her bosom while calling to me. 
Hark! Hear the music that's wafted along, 
It is the mother's sweet lullaby song. 

I'm going to her with hastening feet ; 
Coming, she's coming, and once more we meet. 
Dear golden head, rest thee close to my heart, 
Eyes tell the love that will never depart, 
Voice speak the message that bears me to bliss. 
Lips meet my own in the sweet greeting kiss ; 
Over my bosom thy bright tresses gleam. 
Keep me forever, O, Beautiful Dream; 
Tide of my Memory, flow on evermore. 
Cover ye ever the graves on the shore. 
27 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Now layeth mirrored beneath the sweet glow 
Home of my childhood, old-fashioned and low, 
Cherished sweet home, 'tis the place of my birth, 
There is no dearer spot found upon earth. 
Once more we children are happy at play 
Singing and smiling through all of the day, 
Running the length of the low winding hall ; 
Reaching for sunbeams that dance on the wall. 
Now by the firelight, since daylight is o'er, 
Brothers and sisters all gather once more; 
Mother who ever doth kiss and caress, 
Father who ever doth cherish and bless ; 
Flow on, O Beautiful Tide, flow thee on. 
Thou are too sweet to e'er ebb and be gone; 
Now at thy full all thy ripples are kissed 
By silken curtains of gathering mist ; 
Nothing but tears, I can brush them aside. 
Tears for the graves that are under the tide ; 
Ebbing — the water flows back from the land. 
Cling, O, ye Tide, cling ye fast to the sand. 
Swiftly it ebbs as an eagle doth fly. 
Gone like a rainbow that spanneth the sky. 
The moon's at the zenith, the evening has fled ; 
Lightly, how lightly, the glad hours have sped; 
Here in my chair I've been sitting to-night, 
Watching the ember's dim flickering light ; 
With fancy the woof, and the bright days of 

yore 
The warp, I've been weaving the fair fabric o'er 
Of the life in the sweet long ago, but 'tis gone, 
And aged and lonely I'm wandering on 
28 



OMLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

With useless hands trembhng, with weary step 

slow, 
With eyes dimly seeing, and hair like the snow. 
All of the loved ones are mould'ring to dust. 
Yet walking the street that is golden, I trust ; 
No more a pilgrim, e'er long I shall roam 
Through the dark valley into that bright home, 
Greeting the loved that have gone on before, 
Meeting my Lord on the Heavenly shore. 
For God, in his goodness, as ever will be 
Merciful unto a sinner like me. 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILLS. 

The sun goes down, while crimson clouds 
Lay round the purpling hills, 

And softly in the woods close by, 
I hear the whip-poor-wills. 

O, happy Night, haste on thy way. 

My heart expectant thrills, 
I listen for my lover's feet. 

And hear the whip-poor-wills. 

The climbing moon soon 'gins to grieve. 

The ling'ring silence chills, 
My ear, alert for tardy feet. 

Just hears the whip-poor-wills. 



OMLY A WAYSIDE PLOWER 

He comes not, ev'ry glinting star 

His broken promise fills, 
I, hearkening all in vain, in vain. 

Just hear the whip-poor-wills. 



RUTH. 

Ruth was lonely 
So she gloomily went walking. 

Nature only 
With her, she to Nature talking, 

Restless Ruth. 

Phebe, Phebe, 
Bird of sweet and plaintive singing, 

Mourn you, Niobe, 
To her dying children clinging? 

Questioned Ruth. 

Robin, laden 
With its songs, your throat uncover. 

Like a maiden 
Quite deserted by her lover. 

Sing, sighed Ruth. 



30 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Thirsty Roses — 
Not of late had Philip sought her — 

When day closes 
Not from starry dippers water 

Falls, mused Ruth. 

Ruth was lonely 
So one autumn day went walking, 

Nature only 
With her, she to Nature talking, 

Hapless Ruth. 

Nature's grieving 
Seemed to have no stinted measure, 

Past believing 
Ruth had lost her heart's best treasure, 

Alas, Ruth. 

Where wild asters 
Purpled all the woods in splashes 

Philip passed her. 
Taunt her golden-rod in dashes. 

Unloved Ruth. 

Seek to parry, 
Stricken leaves, thy autumn dying. 

While unwary 
Bird through changing woods. goes flying 

Shot; poor Ruth. 

31 



ONLZ 'A WAYSIDE 'ELOWER 



"BOOFUL BAWN."* 

*Beautiful Brown. 
Long time ago a little child, 

Through open door came patt'ring in 
On my clean floor, with muddy feet. 

And all her gladsome, childish din. 

While on her face was look of pride, 

"Mamma," she said, "I've just been dawn 

To auntie's and her vis'tor says 
My eyes are booful bawn. 

She took me up into her lap, 

My curls she tried to smoove 'em dawn ; 

She kissed my cheeks, and then she said. 
Your eyes are booful bawn. 

Mamma, I want the looking-glass," 
Her mirrored face she gazed upon, 

"Mamma," she said, "I really sink 
My eyes are booful bawn." 

Dear little maid, sweet little maid, 
How short the time e'er she was gone; 

We watched her brown eyes fade and fade, 
Their gaze to Heavenly glories drawn. 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

'Twas long ago a little child, 

Through open door came patt'ring in 

On my clean floor, with muddy feet, 
And all her gladsome childish din. 

Yet I can see that looking-glass, 
The mirrored face she gazes on. 

And hear her say, "I really sink 
My eyes are booful bawn." 



CLEANING HOUSE. 

Woe to me ! a man that's married 
Is a most unlucky mortal ; 
Ev'ry spring must bear the tumult 
While his wife, days in succession. 
Keeps the house all hurly-burly. 
Meantime scolds her blameless husband; 
Thus it is I live and suffer 
While my wife is cleaning house. 

I arose this morning early, 
Found my room all topsy-turvy. 
For my boots at half -hour looking 
They, at last, by dint of searching 
Were discovered in the attic. 



33 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

And my hat was in the bread jar, 
And my pipe — alas, still missing — 
Nothing in the world the matter 
Only wife is cleaning house. 

The piano's in the kitchen. 
On the floor the works of Shakespeare, 
And reflecting all the chaos 
Mirrors tilt against the wood box, 
While the wood is in the pantry. 
And the silver in the bath-tub, 
Nothing in the world the matter 
Only wife is cleaning house. 

And the dining room this morning. 
What a sight! 'twas just appalling! 
Yet askew the breakfast table, 
Cofifee was so black and muddy. 
And the toast was burned to cinders ; 
And the lady there presiding 
Really, I thought 'twas Dinah, 
But it was my wife, dear readers. 
Who just now is cleaning house. 

In such stress could I be tranquil? 
Quick my appetite did vanish, 
I had headache I pretended. 
So I hastened to the parlor 
Threw myself upon the sofa. 
But my head went in the mop pail 

34 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

On my feet the dish doth dangled, 
And the mop stood in the corner. 
Nothing in the world the matter 
Only wife is cleaning house. 

I, at last, thought of the garden. 

Of the cool air in the arbor. 

It would calm my throbbing temples ; 

So from room to room I stumbled. 

Over boxes, bundles, bedding, 

Spilled a bottle full of bluing 

On my wife's new summer bonnet, 

(Looks as well as what was on it) 

Tipped the bread sponge that was rising 

On myself, 'twas not surprising; 

I am used to all such trifles 

While my wife is cleaning house. 

Job is mentioned in the Bible 
As a person very patient. 
Much he bore without complaining, 
But the poor man wasn't troubled 
With a wife, who semi-yearly, 
Crazed his brain by cleaning house. 

If I were a man unmarried 
And a helpmeet should be seeking. 
Though my wife is sweet and pretty 
And. I love her very dearly, 

35 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Surely her I would not marry 
But I'd seek a wife who'd ever 
Scorn to turn her dainty finger 
To the job of cleaning house. 



AUTUMN. 

Autumn came with deepest flat'ry. 
Wooed the earth to perfect bliss. 

Till the loving, trusting Summer 
Felt the death blow of his kiss. 

Then how vainly she for mercy 
Knelt and pleaded at his feet, 

For her green robe, crushed and faded, 
Soon shall be her winding sheet. 

And her flowers, aye, buds and blossoms, 

Summer's coronet of grace. 
In her hair shall droop and wither 

While death steals upon her face. 

O, ye dreary, cruel Autumn, 

Know thou can'st not flatter me, 

For thy loving kisses ever 
Leave too desolate the tree. 



36 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Summer is no longer Summer 
When within thy subtle powers, 

Than was Eden longer Eden 
With the serpent in its bowers. 

So while in my glad heart stealing 

I, thy hated presence feel, 
Well I know thoul't crush its gladness 

With thy ruthless serpent heel. 



A WEDDING POEM. 

For Mr. and Mrs. Numan Allen. 
Just thirty years ago to-day 

Your footsteps did not falter. 
But gladly wended Hymen's way 

Who bound you with his halter; 
'Twas well your hearts were bound before, 
Since two were one then evermore. 

Since thirty years ago to-day 

You're known both joy and sorrow, 

Joy's like a flower that shuts each night, 
And opes again each morrow ; 

Though life like sunny days may glide 

Each day must have its eventide. 



37 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Just thirty years since you were wed, 
And God has blessed your union, 

Your children love you, you love them. 
So love holds sweet communion; 

How happy is the family band 

Where Captain Love has the command. 

Five golden links are in the chain, 

A father and a mother, 
Two dear and living children ; ah ! 

The angels took the other. 
Five in the group shall yet be seen 
When death's dark tide rolls not between. 

Forgive, I've brought the memory 

That Cometh, but to sadden, 
We pledged ourselves to come to-night 

Your dear old hearts to gladden ; 
Come, let the ball of mirth be found. 
We'll have its merry jests unwound. 

What need to lengthen out my rhyme, 
And keep the banquet waiting, 

Now for the happy pair a toast 
We came for celebrating 

A toast with water God will bless, 

We drink your health and happiness. 



S8 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



LIKE OTHER FOLKS. 

My brother Tom to Ella Jane. 
And Russ and me did thus complain: 
WVe staid at home, said he, and worked 
While other people camped and shirked; 
We four must go (it is no hoax) 
And camp and fish like other folks. 

And so with tent, and quilt, and shawl, 
And bread and beans, and pie, and all 
The needy things, like soap and tea, 
We started ofT in greatest glee ; 
Fast went the bays, whizzed wagon spokes. 
We soon reached camp like other folks. 

Now, Tom, as host, set up the tent, 

And Russel his assistance lent, 

And Ella Jane prepared the victuals, 

And Laura washed the plates and "kittles ;" 

Then in the boats with merry strokes, 

We paddled off like other folks. 

In tent at night on East Creek hay, 
Tom made the beds on which we lay ; 
Our sleep was bad, and I confess 
We soon awoke in great distress, 



39 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Our feelings burst in dismal croaks, 
But we had camped like other folks. 

We went for fish at early dawn ; 

The cattle came while we were gone, 

They tramped our dish cloths in the dirt. 

Our table linen somewhat hurt, 

We're "gittin' " used to camping jokes 

And stand 'em just Hke other folks. 

We snatched a "bite." At half-past ten 
Both Tom and Russ, conspiring men. 
They took a boat and off they hove 
Into a rather quiet cove. 
They drop their lines while Thomas smokes 
And watch their bobs like other folks. 

Now proudly back they came at two, 
And held long strings of fish to view. 
Two hundred perch and puffy pout, 
That they had caught. There is no doubt 
They'd quite forgot their marriage yokes 
While so intent, like other folks 

Who in our boat serene and calm 

Gave our report to Russ and Tom, 

Of perch and pout. We women caught 

One more than they a Uner lot; 

Tom's face grows wry and Russel chokes. 

To be so "beat' by other folks. 

40 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

And now with tent, and quilt, and shawl, 
Pick'rel and perch, pout, ling, and all 
Our eels, and turtles caught so fine 
With bob and sinker, hook and line, 
Fast came the bays, scud wagon spokes, 
We're now "at home" like other folks. 



THE MINSTRELS' SONG. 

Sleep wooed me to her pleasant bowers 
And there I wandered many hours. 
And while the sun sank in the west 
Sat by the gate of dreams to rest ; 
Then where the sunbeams lit the wood. 
With harp in hand a minstrel stood. 
Once o'er the strings he slowly ran 
His fingers then a song began. 



Good-by, for thou and I must part, 
Since thou art false as false can be. 

And yet a faithful broken heart 

While I shall live, will beat for thee. 

Good-by, and may thy lot be cast 
Where joy's unfading blossoms grow. 

And may no vision of the past 
E'en bring to thee the cup of woe. 



41 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Good-by, and if a prayer of mine 
Can guide thee through this realm of sin, 

No purer life shall be than thine 
Nor higher victories to win. 

Good-by, my joy's blest day at last 
In sorrow's night has found its tomb, 

Yet shall the mem'ry of the past 
Reflect the sunlight o'er the gloom. 

Good-by, and may Time's fairest boat 
Bear thee across Life's gentlest sea, 

And then into the harbor float 

That rings with Heaven's minstrelsy. 

Good-by, without the parting kiss. 

Though this my last fond hope doth slay. 

Be mine the anguish, thine the bliss, 
Good-by, forever and a day. 

The strains grew lower, one by one. 
The harp was still, the song was done ; 
And where the deep'ning shadows crept, 
The minstrel bowed his head and wept; 
'Twas nothing but a dream, and yet 
The song I never can forget, 
Its echoes linger in my heart. 
And never will nor can depart. 

;$« 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

BENJAMIN OWEN. 
A Story in verse 

"Found while sleeping at his post 

Sentenced to the death of shame." 
This to Farmer Owen's home 

Was the dreadful news that came; 
White as death the mother sat, 

Wildly rocking to and fro, 
While the father bowed his head 

In the agony of woe. 

That same day a letter came, 

" 'Tis from Ben," the farmer said, 

Though the sad, sad words within. 

Seemed like coming from the dead. 

'Twas a hero's story there, 

On that tear-stained paper told, 

And his glory 'bove his shame 
Shone like crossing bands of gold. 

It is night, and silently 

Flits a figure 'cross the lawn. 
Quite unknown to any one 

Precious little Blossom's gone. 
'Tis not with a thought of fear. 

That her heart is throbbing high. 
But 'tis beating to her words — 

Brother Bennie shall not die I 
43 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Now within the hast'ning car 

Swiftly sped the little one, 
Till at last her tear-dimmed eyes 

Saw the streets of Washington ; 
Straight into the White House then. 

Straightway to the president^ 
With Ben's letter in her hand 

Was the little maiden sent. 

Oh, how very tall he looked! 

And she shrank away afraid, 
Till the good man's kindly hand 

On her throbbing forehead laid ; 
"What's my little maiden want?" 

Then it was she dared to speak, 
"Bennie's life," she faltered out, 

While the tears ran down her cheek. 

"James was sick, so Benjamin 

Bore his baggage, and at night 
Twas James' turn to watch, but Ben 

Took his place and thought 'twas right ; 
But Ben was too tired, so tired 

That he could not keep awake. 
So they're going to shoot him now. 

And my parent's hearts will break. 

Bennie says if he could die 

On the battlefield instead, 
He could lie down peacefully 

With the roar above his head— 
44 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Ah ! He had a boy's poor strength. 
Though as tall as most of men, 

Shall they shoot him like a dog? 
Loving, noble-hearted Ben !" 

"God forbid it," Lincoln said, 
"Such a boy for such a fate." 

Speed, O, message, speed along, 
Or thy words may be too late. 



Sweetly like a blessed thing, 
Does the golden sunset fall, 

For Ben Owen hears once more 
Billy neighing from his stall. 

And the twilight deepening. 

Brings the dimly twinkling stars. 
And the cows come lowing down 

Softly to the pasture bars ; 
While the bright moon coming up 

Floods the valley with its light, 
Lifted is the cloud of grief 

From the farmer's home to-night. 



'M 



45 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



CONFESSION. 

The light of thine eyes, O, my darling. 
Thrilled me with a rapturous bliss, 

I tasted of joy's sweetest nectar, 
While drinking the cup of thy kiss. 

All joy of my earliest childhood, 

All hopes of my happiest youth. 
All bliss for the present and future. 

Are bound with the chain of thy truth. 

I know thou art noble and faithful. 

And true as the Heaven above. 
Thy promises ne'er will be broken. 

No more than the band of thy love. 

I'll love thee and trust thee forever. 
My faith in thee nothing can slay, 

Though time and though distance us sever, 
Through life and through death till the Day. 



u 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



LIFE. 

Life stood before her glass at youth's sweet 
dawn, 
And thought the mirrored face was passing 
fair; 
Her rosy cheeks the dimples played upon, 

And ripples quivered in her gold-brown hair; 
Half proud she smiled, and then her parted lips 

Let pearly teeth reflect upon the glass — 
Over brow, o'er cheek, and tress the pleased 
glance trips 
Of eyes whose beauty naught could well sur- 
pass. 

She bade adieu to childhood's sylvan bowers, 

Though long she'd thought they were devinely 
blest ; 
She was aweary of their loving hours, 

And longing, sighed for other haunts of rest. 
"Some gleaming wreath shall deck my brow, she 
said. 

And joy shall ever blossom in my heart ; 
The fabled bliss of my child life is fled. 

Now joy shall come that never shall depart." 

She launched her boat upon a crystal stream. 
For the first voyage of her trusting youth; 

47 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Its gilded sides with sunshine were agleam, 
The soft waves murmured, "All the world is 
truth." 
Hour after hour she floated gayly on, 

With childhood's bowers through distance lost 
to view, 
The murmuring ripples hushed and then were 
gone, 
The fair sky grew a deeper, sweeter blue. 

She fell to dreaming of the land before. 

And let her light boat with the current glide, 
While dewy fingers of the dripping oar 

Struck mellow notes upon the placid tide ; 
And many a freighted bark went gliding by. 

And once a smile was given and returned, 
That in her heart built up an altar high 

Where love, a willing sacrifice, was burned. 

But angry clouds went mutt'ring through the 
sky. 
That woke the happy maiden from her dream, 
And many a bird went swiftly flitting by 

And sought the shore with an affrighting 
scream, 
The rain descended and the surly blast 

Burst o'er the waters with a lion roar, 
Life with her heart in terror beating fast. 
Now caught the oars and battling reached the 
shore. 



48 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

But soon the sun came smiling forth, and swift 

From cloud to cloud its silv'ry arrows sped, 
The raindrops circled in a tinted drift 

And like a frightened hare the storm-king fled. 
But Life sat weeping on a rugged shore 

O'er her boat, a shattered, useless thing, 
Ah ! she can lead a sailor's life no more 

Than can a dovelet fly with infant wing. 

"This waking is a bitter one," she said, 

"A tattered fabric, is this dream to me; 
While soft Itnlian skies were overhead 

I did not think a storm could ever be. 
But be it rough or placid at its choice, 

That stream shall never tempt my youth 
again, 
I scorn the magic of its siren voice. 

Its strength to bind me's like a broken chain." 

Each life will be, is now, or else has been, 

Vain searching for some future halcyon store, 
Though present effort must the future win. 

Life falls to dreams and quite forgets the oar, 
Till disenchantment of a treasured part 

Like rue in wine, embittering the whole, 
Makes dissipated trust steal to the heart. 

Bar out the calm and bid the storm controL 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



THE WELCOME RAIN. 

The Summer air is sultry and dry, 

And the shining sun through the dulling hours 
Sends piercing rays through the cloudless sky, 

That wither the petals of fainting flowers 
And fadeth the green of the meadow's dress, 
Till nature is weary of their caress 

And longs for the dewy teardrops bright, 

That fall from the sad dark eyes of Night. 

Soon in the horizon, hanging low, 
A beautiful cloud like a curtain tries 

To drape its folds 'tween the golden glow 
And promise of rain in the western skies ; 

But the dark, heavy clouds come quickly now. 

Float on till they rest on the mountain's brow, 
And the vivid lightnings flash and play, 
Tin earth is wrapped in silvery spray. 

Father, we knew that all would be well, 
For Thou who sendeth us blessings so free, 

Who in a moment the storm can quell, 

And calm the wild waves of the seething sea, 

Hath said that Thy care shall be over allj 

Unheeded not even the sparrow's fall. 
And so we will humbly trust in Thee, 
Long as the beautiful world shall be. 



50 



ONLY A WAYSIDE RLOWER 



BESSIE'S PHILOSOPHY. . 

When Benny asked me for my hand, 
No happier maiden in the land, 
But mother said I should not wed, 
And father frowned and shook his head. 

Of course I dared not talk to pa. 
But right before him talked to ma. 
Said, I, dear ma, do you regret 
That you are married or forget? 

You say I shall not marry Ben, 
You don't think he's the best of men. 
Now grandma says she thought so too 
Of pa, when he came courting you. 

To-day I found a billet doux, 
'Tis one that once was sent to you ; 
And yet when Benny's came to-night, 
Both you and pa thought 'twasn't right. 

And so I thought I'd read a line, 
To see how yours compared with mine, 
And ma, they're worded just the same. 
Though yours is signed with father's name. 

*T love you May," the letter ran, 
"And know I ne'er can love again, 



51 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

So you must name the happy day 
When you will be my wife, Dear May." 

And grandma says you cried a week, 
And would not smile and scarce would speak. 
Till she and grandpa, hopes in dust, 
Said, wed that nothing if you must ! 

Now tell me why you married pa, 
I think it is so strange, dear ma, 
For when your daughter asks to wed, 
Both you and papa shake your heads. 

Then father said, well done, dear Bess, 
And mother smiled and said, yes, yes ; 
And grandma laughed and took her snuff. 
And said the joke was good enough. 

And so next Sunday I shall wear 
Sweet purple pansies in my hair; 
For Sunday is my wedding day 
And father gives the bride away. 



GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 

Green Mountain Boys! the very name 
Hastens the beating of the heart. 

And feeds the patriotic flame 
That from it never can depart. 
53 



ONLY. "A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

In those dark hours which challenged passed, 
Since we'd not yield to unjust laws, 

Say! were Green Mountain boys the last 
To strike for freedom and its causei! 

Was not Ticonderoga won 

By gallant Allen and his band? 
The news of that quick action done 

How soon was wafted o'er the land. 

'Twas not for honor, 'twas not fame, 
That prompted them this deed to do, 

'Twas done in great Jehovah's name. 
And "Continental Congress," too. 

Green Mountain boys! ah, where were they 
In our Rebellion's darkest night? 

They were not cowards in the fray, 
But 'mongst the bravest in the fight. 

And when the cannon's fiery flood 

Had ceased, and the wierd battle plain 

Was crimsoned with the soldier's blood, 
Green Mountain boys were 'mongst the slain. 

Green Mountain boys are brave and true. 
They're men with patriotic hearts, 

They'll love the red and white and blue 
Till life's last lingering ray departs. 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE ELOWER 

And if war spreads its gloomy pall, 
And peace lifts up its wings and flies, 

Green Mountain boys will hear the call, 
"All ready" be their quick replies. 

If hostile bands are tired of peace. 
They'll battle with the bravest free. 

For Loyalty will never cease 
Where e'er Green Mountain boys shall be. 



JEAN CAVALIER. 
^A Story in Verse. 

Jean Cavalier was a peasant boy, 

And only ten years old, 
His father's pride and his mother's joy 

And blithe as he was bold. 
And he was brave for he saved the lives 

Of many women and men. 
This boy that lived in a lowly hut 

In the mountains of Cevennes. 

O'er the chasmy rocks he often sprung. 

Safe as a bird on wing; 
The sacred songs that the peasants sung 

With childish voice he'd sing; 



54 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

But well he knew that the King of France 

Had sixty thousand men 
That watched and hated the Protestants. 

In the mountains of Cevennes. 

Now all the huts in the vale at dawn 

Deserted were one day, 
To mountain Bourges had the peasants gone 

To worship God, to pray; 
But the news had reached a hostile town 

And with six hundred men 
Came a haughty captain from the plain 

To the mountains of Cevennes. 

Their bay'nets gleamed in the sunshine flood 

That filled the circling path, 
They were full of ire, and naught but blood 

Would soothe their cruel wrath. 
For were they not King Louis' troops. 

Six hundred armed men. 
And woe to the Christians that dare pray 

In the mountains of Cevennes. 

But the soldiers stern should not have worn 

Their gaudy scarlet hoods. 
Nor the conch-shell blown, the sound was borne 

Through the echoing woods 
" 'Tis the King's troops going up," said Jean, 

And away he hastened then 
That there might be no massacre 

In the mountains of Cevennes. 
55 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

'Neath ^ofty pines, through the wild ravines 

That noisy streams did float; 
From steep to steep sped the Hthesome Jean 

Swift as a mountain goat. 
A winsome soft-limbed child to thwart 

Six hundred armed men, 
A braver deed was never done 

In the mountains of Cavennes. 

Knew not of peril the Protestants 

As they knelt down to pray. 
Then arose and sung their sacred chants 

In mountain Bourges that day; 
And Brousson, their loved pastor, came 

From his secret dwelling then 
And there was given the sacrament 

To the Christians of Cevennes. 

Out rang a child's voice loud and shrill, 

"Fly! The enemy comes!" 
And it re-echoed from the hills, 

"Fly! the enemy comes!" 
And the startled peasants gazed at him, 

From their secluded glen, 
And thought the child had come from Heaven 

To the mountains of Ceyennes. 

On a rocky summit bare and seamed. 

Stood Jean the boy so bold. 
His goat-skin coat in the sunset gleamed 

So did his locks of gold. 

56 



ONLYa a wayside FLOW'BE 

Louis the Great was a powerful king 

With his sixty thousand men, 
But God he guarded the faithful few 

In the mountains of Cevennes. 

Through the narrow paths they quickly sped 

To their loved homes that night, 
The great full moon its soft light shed 

The stars, too, gave their light; 
And when the troops on their prancing steeds 

Went dashing into the glen 
Nothing was there but the silent rocks 

And the forest of Cevennes, 



EVERMORE. 

Evermore farewell, said I, 
And left the flow'ry vale behind 

Where hope's bright sunbeams ever lie. 
Where joy's deep streams forever wind ; 

Loving, unloved; 'tis so, said I. 

Oh, bitter pain 'tis less to die. 

Evermore they're mine, said I, 
A famished heart, a reaching hand; 

'Round me the blast goes sweeping by, 
Beneath's the dreary desert sand; 

Loving, unloved ; 'tis so, said I, 

Oh, bitter pain 'tis less to die. 
67 



OKLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



CHARLEY. 

Noiseless flakes of crystal snow 

Into drifts were piling so, 

While the children's merry shout. 

Through the misty air rung out, 

Welcoming the hour of four 

When the school was closed once more ; 

Ah ! it seemed so sad to me, 

All this happy childish glee, 

O'er a day forever fled; 

Thought I, they should weep instead. 

Little Charley will be gone 

E'er another day shall dawn. 

Coasting down the hill one day. 

He was hurt in careless play; 

So I missed his sunny face. 

From its old accustomed place. 

Missed the cheery voice, the smile. 

Yet hope whispered all the while. 

He'll be well soon, you can wait ; 

And I kept his book and slate. 

Every morning called his name. 

But no "present" ever came. 

Now my cherished hope must flee. 

For I knew it could not be, 

Knew that waiting was in vain, 

Charley ne'er would come again. 



58 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Slowly, sadly, was the light 
Shutting out the dreary night. 
And fond parents stricken wild 
With their grief wept o'er their child, 
While his heavy lab'ring breath, 
Ev'ry moment spoke of death, 
And with sweet simplicity, 
Spoke he of eternity ; 
Then he smiled without a sigh. 
Kissed and bade them all good-by ; 
But his parents sobbing grief. 
Shook the little boy's belief 
Of the joy in store for him ; 
E'en a stranger's eyes grew dim 
At the agonizing sight 
Of his little arms clasped tight 
Round their necks, and the sad cry 
"Charley does not want to die." 
Ah, how soon forgotten pain 
Made him sweetly smile again. 
Even after life's eclipse 
That sweet smile was on his lips. 
See ! how soon the cloud dispells ! 
"Mother ! mother ! I hear bells ! 
And the pretty shadow, see ! 
It is bending over me." 
Ah, those bells were e'en the sweet 
Patter of an angel's feet. 
And the pretty shadow one 
Of the father and the son ; 
For the pure white soul has fled, 
Precious little Charley's dead. 
59 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Parents weep, 'tis better so, 
Years can best assuage your woe; 
Deep and heavy is the loss. 
But He'll help you bear the cross ; 
Listen ! hear the whisper soft, 
I am with thee, look aloft. 



BALLAD OF COLUMBUS. 

Oho, Columbus ! if you please, 
What silly notions, man, are these? 
They say you think the world is round^ 
That westward Asia can be found; 
Oh ! What bravado's in a breast 
That seeks the Indies sailing west! 
That seeks the Indies sailing west ! 

And thus they talked with scornful smile. 
And scoffed or jested all the while ; 
His ship would be like frailest cup 
Broken by waves, turned bottom up. 
Lit by the sun his grave would be, 
That sets and rises in the sea. 
That sets and rises in the sea. 

"You know I am," Columbus said, 
"A man of prayer, and sailor bred ; 



60 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

I dare the sea, Death's not at hand 
More on the water than the land; 
And I have errands, so perforce. 
For India westward shape my course, 
For India westward shape my course. 

'Tween Thimae and Canary Isles 
But sixteen hours of sunshine smiles ; 
O'er some fair land the others stray 
That takes its rightful share of day; 
I fear no tide, I fear no gale. 
But for that land I set my sail, 
But for that land I set my sail." 

And so from Palos go the ships 

While from their keels the water drips. 

Sail on ! Sail west ! Leave doubt behind ! 

Far more than India you will find ; 

A broad New World o'ergrown with trees, 

Washed by her rivers and her seas, 

Washed by her rivers and her seas. 



LIFE AMONG THE ROSES. 

Ye weary ones who lonely are, 

O'er pain's drear desert wand'ring. 

Ye catch the gleam of no bright star, 
(While o'er your sorrows pond'ring; 



61 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Look up, and count your blessings, friends, 
Though night the day opposes. 

You'll find that when their battle ends, 
Your lives are 'mong the roses. 

Refuse to drink the crimson wine, 

Oh, shun the deadly glasses, 
For water more doth ever shine. 

In every way surpasses; 
How fallen grows the man that craves 

The draught which Death composes. 
Yield not yourselves to be its slaves. 

Choose life among the roses. 

Remind the weary of the rest 

From earthly labor riven; 
Speak to the sinner of the blest 

Way sin shall be forgiven ; 
Speak gently to the erring one 

Of what all wrong opposes. 
Remembering that such good deeds done. 

Make life among the roses. 

Brush from the cheek the bitter tear. 

Leave angry words unspoken, 
Bestow a kindly smile to cheer. 

As friendship's willing token; 
Thus doing life, however sad, 

A thousand joys discloses, 
For making hearts around you glad. 

Makes life among the roses. 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



THANKSGIVING. 

While softly drift the shining sunbeams through 
Delicious air and glisten with its blue, 
November's heart is beating strong and true 

Thanksgiving. 

The snow-clad mountains, towering wild and 

high, 
Yet touching but the lowlands of the sky, 
Do silently and eloquently cry 

Thanksgiving. 

And from the mountains, dashing toward the 

plain, 
The silv'ry water catches the sweet strain 
And echoes and re-echoes it again 

Thanksgiving. 

And e'en the little bird, still lingering 

In hopes the dreary winter'll prove a spring. 

Upon the leafless branch doth gaily sing 

Thanksgiving. 

While on the board the festival is spread, 
How reverently boweth ev'ry head; 
They listen while the solemn words are said 

Thanksgiving. 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Almighty Maker of the earth and sea, 
Thou who has ever prospered us to Thee, 
To-day Our Nation humbly bends the knee. 

Thanksgiving. 

See! while the snowflake falleth pure and white. 
Upon the earth still lingereth the light; 
The day is sweetly dark'ning into night 

Thanksgiving. 



SWEET LITTLE SISTER MAY. 

Brown hair tinged with the sun's bright ray, 
Red lips parting in laughter gay, 
Rosy cheeks where the dimples play. 
Sweet little sister May. 

Brown eyes filled with a liquid light. 
Dear little hands so soft and white. 
Tiny feet that dance with delight, 
Sweet little sister May. 

Singing blithe as the robin's song, 
Voice that makes music all day long, 
Love that is child-like, trustful, strong, 
Sweet little sister May. 

64 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Thou mak'st the shadows soon depart, 
Bright little sunbeam, yes, thou art, 
Star of my home, peace of my heart, 
Sweet little sister May. 



FRANK'S SERMON. 

"You children will not go to church to-day," 

the pastor said, 
"You get so tired; beside it looks like storm- 
ing overhead. 
But, dears, remember though we let you stay 

at home to-day, 
That Sunday is the time for rest and not the 

time for play." 
So, when the pastor hurried off for fear he 

would be late. 
The children watched their parents till they 

passed outside the gate ; 
And then sat down, while slowly dragged one 

Sunday hour away, 
When Esther wished 'twas Monday so she 

could go out and play; 
"Oh, dear!" said Lucy, "so do I, I'm tired of 

sitting still." 
"And I," said Frank, "I tell you, Lute, if you 

and Esther will. 



U 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Since pa and ma have gone to church and 

left us here alone, 
I'll be the preacher and we'll have a sermon 

of our own." 
So off the little children ran and donned their 

Sunday clothes, 
"Now, Lute," said Frank, "you get my hat 

and trim it with a rose. 
I've only time to comb my hair, I got so very 

vexed, 
I had to search the Bible through before I found 

my text." 
"But Where's the meeting house?" said Lute, 

"that's what I'd like to know." 
"Come on," said Frank, "I know the place, 

I'll tell you where to go." 



The pastor in the pulpit stood delivering his 
text. 

When in its midst he made a pause, and 
looked around perplexed. 

For many a smiling hearer bent a most atten- 
tive ear. 

While on the balmy summer air a voice rang 
loud and clear — 

"Do unto others as ye would that they should 
do to you;" 

The pastor bowed his head and through the 
window caught a view, 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

For on the river's other bank, just opposite the 
church. 

He saw Frank sitting in the topmost branches 
of a birch; 

And underneath its scanty shade, upon the fra- 
grant green, 

His Httle girls in Sunday gowns were plainly 
to be seen. 

He glanced but once, and then again turned to 
the Holy Book, 

Again he read his chosen text without a 
troubled look; 

And though his smiling hearers heard two ser- 
mons stead of one, 

How calmly ran his discourse on till services 
were done. 



Now ended too the services across the sleepy 

stream. 
Deserted quite the silvered birch just seemed to 

doze and dream. 
The pastor hurried out of church and looked to 

left and right, 
And lo! he saw three curly heads just going out 

of sight. 
When he reached home he glanced around, the 

children all were there; 
Each one, though looking flushed and tired, sat 

primly in a chair. 

m 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

The pastor had to turn away to hide a transient 
smile, 

Though on his brow a look of care was resting 
all the while ; 

They quietly sat down to tea and not a word was 
said, 

But when a sacred song was sung, and evening 
psalm was read, 

"Frank," said his father, "did I hear you preach- 
ing some to-day?" 

But Frankie blushed and hung his head and 
knew not what to say. 

"Oh yes," said Esther, "papa dear, we children 
went to church; 

Lucy and I sat on the ground and Frank sat in 
in a birch, 

And there he preached so long and loud — and he 
was vexed with me — 

I thought I saw a butterfly, but 'twas a honey- 
bee, 

And Lucy picked some dandelions, that is all 
she did. 

And when we saw your meeting out we ran away 
and hid." 

"Enough," the pastor kindly said, "you need not 
tell me more," 

For little Frank had thrown himself down sob- 
bing on the floor ; 

His father gently took him up and smoothed his 
curly head, 



68 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

And then he kissed them all good night, and sent 
them off to bed. 

But Frank ne'er preached another sermon, sit- 
ting in the birch. 

For ev'ry Sunday after that the children went 
to church. 

■.St 

MY DREAM. 

I slept and dreamed; 
The stars shone not, the moon had paled. 
And by the deepest darkness veiled 

All nature seemed. 

And then came on, 
So tenderly, a golden mist, 
Just as the mountains looked when kissed 

By morning's dawn. 

Then came in sight 
In glist'ning robe, an angel fair, 
Upon her breast, and in her hair. 

Were lilies white. 

Her hand she raised 
And pointed upward toward the skies. 
While with her dark and radiant eyes 

At me she gazed. 

,6a 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Afraid be not! 
I come to thee to warning give ; 
Take heed, if thou would'st ever live 

In that bright spot. 

Say! dost thou know 
A precipice thou standeth on? 
Near the abyss thy feet are drawn 

That roars below. 

Thy steps retrace 
To safety, e'er it is too late; 
E'er thou dost blindly seal thy fate, 

Thyself disgrace. 

'Twas thus she spoke. 
Then melted into clouds of blue, 
The golden mist departed too. 

And I awoke. 

But reason gave 
Me knowledge that the precipice 
Was drunkenness, and the abyss 

A drunkard's grave; 

And I've not drank 
A single drop since that blest night. 
That my dream angel came in white. 

And God I thank. 



70 



I 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 
THE PALACE OF THE KING. 

Up in the dim old chamber 

The children's voices ring, 
While they are decorating 

The palace of the king. 

Draping the walks with cedar 

Knotted with berries red. 
Looping the tissue curtains 

Up with a golden thread. 

Spreading the shining carpet, 
Brown and crimson and gold. 

Leaves from the fields of summer. 
Strayed to the autumn fold. 

Making a couch of mosses. 

Soft as a bed of down. 
Weaving some faded posies 

Into their sovereign's crown. 

See the king as they crown him, 

Smile in his royal way; 
Life is golden existence. 

Being a king at play. 

Swift will the days go gliding 

Into the sunny past, 
He'll on life's dreary ocean, 

Stand at the wheel at last. 

71 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Loud will the storm be raging, 

Shifting the wind and tide, 
Wild will the waves go dashing 

Up 'gainst the good ship's side. 

This can I wish my darling, 

Out on the stormy blue, 
That as the old ship's captain 

He will be good and true. 

Thus can I see the ending, 

Nearing the peaceful shore, 
Gladly he drops the anchor, 

Never to set sail more. 

Lo! See the great light shining! 

Hark ! hear the angels sing ! 
Here is the port called Heaven, 

And The Palace of The King. 



OCTOBER. 

My sweet little lassie, my pretty October, 
What is the matter ? what makes you so sober ? 
All of the flowers and the grasses are dying, 
Fading unnoticed, while you sit a crying. 
The earth and the sky are with mourning o'er- 

laden. 
You look and you act like a heart-broken maiden. 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Just think, October, how nicely you're faring. 
Plenty of jewels you have for you're wearing. 
Necklaces bright through the sweet valleys glid- 
ing. 
Fairest of pearls in the browned grasses hiding. 
Plenty of dresses of brown, gold, and crimson, 
Your artist, Jack Frost, sits up nights and trims 
'em. 

1 kept up my spirits through dreary September, 

By thinking of moments 'twixt then and Novem- 
ber, 

When out in the meadow-land I should be walk- 
ing 

With merry October so cozily talking; 

But your tears on the roof are so constantly 
sounding, 

I dare not go out for fear I shall be drowning. 

My sweet little lassie, pray, don't be offended, 
But I really believe all your frowns are pre- 
tended ; 
While all of the time your light heart's beating 

gladly. 
You pretend to be moping and feeling so badly. 
So people won't know you're expecting a comer, 
Your faithful old lover, Sir Indian Summer. 



'^ 



n 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



OUR LITTLE FARMER. 

Our Little Farmer has merry brown eyes, 

And soft red cheeks ; 
His voice is tuned to the notes of the birds, 

Whene'er he speaks. 

You have heard a tiny babbling brook's 

Roundelay song, 
'Tis like the musical sound of his feet. 

All the day long. 

Our little farmer was missing one day, 

Where could he be? 
Out in the garden, the meadow, the grove 

Searching went we. 

Till over a brooklet violet banked. 

Fond mother sped, 
Happy in glimpses of tiny red dress, 

And curly head. 

Our little farmer with hoe in his hand, 

Busily stood 
Digging the poor corn — all up by the roots, 

Fast as he could. 

What are you doing, my wee baby boy. 

Pray, do you know? 
"Don't bozzer me, I is hoeing the corn 

So it will grow." 

74 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



ALL DAY AND ALL NIGHT LONG. 

'Twas June and in my garden 
Were roses white and red, 

I went at fall of even 

To pick them for my dead. 

Just then from yonder lattice 

Floated this joyful song. 
No sorrow's mine, God shields me 

All day and all night long. 

[Within my happy bosom 

No sad'ning mem'ries throng, 

And round my door my children 
Are playing all day long. 

Fair as arbutus trailing 

Its sweets the leaves among. 

Within my home are sleeping 
My darlings, all night long. 

No love is like a mother's. 

It is so pure and strong. 
Why should I not be happy 

All day and all night long. 

But if I lose my treasures 
I'll murmur not, 'tis wrong ; 

And life through sweet, is ceasing, 
All day and all night long. 
75 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

They'd still be in God's keeping, 
And this would be my song, 

They are not dead but sleeping, 
All day and all night long. 

'Twas June, and as I gathered 

Its roses, red and white, 
I said, the Lord is with me. 

He comforts e'en to-night. 



TO EVA. 

Your little bark and mine have met 

Upon Life's restless sea, 
And reaching from your boat to mine 

You've shaken hands with me. 

And though we part, you sailing east, 

While I go sailing west. 
With world encircled, both may reach 

The blissful Bay of Rest. 



70 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



THE LOVE LETTER AND THE POEM. 

I'm sitting down to write to town 

A somewhat fond epistle — 
"O, sister, turn, for in my sum 

I knows Fse dot a thistle." 
My Dear Paul — Clair, don't jog my chair, 

John, stop that noisy whistle, 
.What was that Ben whizzed past my pen 

A self-propelling missle? 
Like jumping jack, in white and black. 

Each word's in my epistle. 

Was ever one beneath the sun 

In such a state as I'm in? 
Thus sitting down to write to town 

I only waste my time in ; 
I think, without a jot of doubt, 

I'd better be a rhyming ; 
For children's joys — my stars ! those boys 

Upon the roof are climbing ! 
For children's plays and poet's lays. 

Go better when they're chiming. 

What music sweet in tiny feet 
That 'cross the carpet patter — 

Stop dancing, Will ; O, Roy ! keep still ! 
Do cease that constant chatter. 

"My dolly Rose, has bruised her nose, 

O, sister, do look at her, 

n ... 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Boo, hoo, hoo, hoo," don't cry so, Sue, 
It will not mend the matter — 

'Tis pleasure rare — that broomstick mare, 
Ned, makes an awful clatter. 

This adverse time defies my rhyme. 

Insisting on collusion ; 
And when I try to criss cross by 

My tactics cause confusion ; 
My verses, too, like billet-doux. 

Must yield to sharp intrusion. 
My surgical skill its functions fill 

On wound and on contusion. 
My poem jerk 'twixt sob and quirk 

And hasten to conclusion. 



THE SAVING SLEEP. 

Is it the sweet, the saving sleep. 
Where strength is won once more to weep 
And struggle in Life's restless sea? 
Ah, sweeter sleep is found in death. 
In changing the frail mortal breath 
For immortality. 



The brook beneath the ice was still, 
The breezeless air inwrapped with chill 
Woke softly, while the snowflakes fell 
On mountain, hill, and in the dell. 



78 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

The leafless shrubs waved to and fro 
And to each other whispered low; 
The house was silent as the night 
Where faintly echoed footsteps light. 
And e'en the snow-bird at the pane 
Tapped softly as would summer rain. 
An anxious face peeped in to see 
The sick child sleeping peacefully ; 
Gone is the fever's hectic glow, 
The cheeks are lilied like the snow; 
No delirious thoughts now sweep 
Over the brain, but dreamless sleep 
As sweet as is the honeyed dew 
To bees soft closes eyes of blue. 
Sweet sleep 'tis but a tiny breath, 
A straw, a thread, 'twixt life and death ; 
Half way from earth from paradise 
The peaceful little sleeper lies. 
This side life's ocean's ceaseless roar, 
That side still waters evermore; 
This side life's sky of varied hues, 
Grief's heavy clouds, joy's fleeting blue, 
That side the golden shining throne, 
The happy song; this side the moan, 
Of dreary pain, the cruel thorn, 
That side the crown, the glorious morn ; 
This side the night with specks of day. 
That side the light for aye and aye; 
This side foul treachery and deceit. 
That side no nets to snare the feet ; 
This side the dove with weary wing, 
That side the olive branches swing; 
79 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

This side a tired lamb, white-souled, 
That side the Shepherd and the Fold. 



"He's sleeping still," the mother said, 
But when she had approached the bed 
She sunk down and began to weep, 
Dear child, he was, indeed, asleep. 

How many ones have wept above 

The dear dead objects of their love 

That God thought best they should not keep. 

Sad mourners, be ye comforted, 

The Saviour's bosom is their bed, 

Death is the saving sleep. 



THE ROBIN ON HER NEST. 

The east greets the pale half-moon. 

And the sun's low in the west. 
And flushed are the hills with their pinks of June, 

Sung the robin on her nest. 

I have my darlings three 

And I take them to my breast. 
When the wind stirs limbs of the old pine tree 

It softly rocks my nest. 

80 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

The nights are fair and cool, 

And the days were calm and blest 

Till the children climbed, as they came from 
school, 
To the branch which holds my nest. 

The boys had eyes of blue, 

But I liked the girl the best, 
I grieved, as I thought what the lads might do 

iWith the young ones in my nest. 

Till 'neath the pine tree's shade. 

Their mother came to rest; 
Who kissed her cheek but the curious maid 

That clambered to my nest. 

The boys, with loving words, 

Their mother dear caressed. 
There ne'er was a safer abode for birds, 

Trilled the robin on her nest. 

And when I fly away, 

For dainty worms in quest, 
I stay and I sing, and I sing and stay, 

Then I fly back to my nest. 

****** 

Now higher sails the moon, 

And the world has gone to rest; 
Asleep are the hills, and the pinks of June,* 

And the robin on her nest. 

*The wild azalea. 

81 



ONLY A WAYSIDE ELOWER 



THREE PICTURES. 

Joy, Hope, and Faith drew them for me, 
And, Anabel, I give to thee 
The last one of the dainty three 

Joy painted me a landscape view ; 
The rising sun shone warm and true 
On wak'ning dell intwined with dew, 
And perfumed clovers, one by one, 
Tassled the brook, whose eddies spun 
Their golden fabrics of the sun. 

But clouds will gather on the sky. 
The world's frail joy turn to a sigh. 
And so I lay that picture by. 

Hope's picture was so sweetly fair. 
A blue eyed babe with flaxen hair. 
And bare arms dimpled here and there ; 
It had its little hands outspread 
To catch the sunbeams o'er its head. 
While in its eyes such hope I read. 

But in the mist of future years, 

I see those bright eyes dim with tears, 

I'll keep that picture with my fears. 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Faith's picture was a glorious one; 
A rainbow glist'ning in the sun, 
Was ever such a picture done? 
And tears and smiles, it seemed to me, 
Inwreathed the canvas tenderly, 
Their sheen a written melody. 

E'en should this picture fade from frame. 

His fulfilled promises we claim. 

Who made immortal Faith's sweet name. 

IN REMEMBRANCE. 

Of Haftie Sally J. Hooker who died April 12^ 
1880^ aged seventeen. 

I've read of a sweet tiny maiden 

Who had a dear brother above. 
She loosened her own pet canary 

To carry him words of her love ; 
"You tell him I'm lonesome without him, 

I want him to come back and stay ;" 
And so with the message to carry. 

Her brave little bird flew away. 

And now, with a faith like that maiden's. 

Dear sister, I'm writing to thee 
A letter from earth up to Heaven, 

The angels will carry for me. 

83 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

I know that your sweet face will brighten, 
Your beautiful brown eyes will shine, 

To think that you are not forgotten. 
You good little sister of mine. 

How worthy you were of the praises 

That fell round your poor dying head. 
Your last words, how precious to mem'ry, 

"Be good to dear mother," you said. 
Oh, you were so good to that mother. 

So loving and kind to us all, 
So patient and true and unselfish. 

Such ones does the dear Saviour call. 

It puts me in mind of the story 

A poet once told of the flowers, 
"The Gardener picked Him the fairest," 

That's why He has been choosing ours. 
That spring-time I long shall remember 

So happily was it begun, 
How little I thought e'er 'twas ended, 

A sweet sister's life would be done. 

For two happy brides were your sisters. 

Who thought of another to stay 
To gladden the hearts of their parents. 

And keep all the long hours away. 
But you were a fair bride celestial. 

The happiest one of the three; 
O "Hattie," you looked in your coffin 

So pure and so sweet unto me. 
84 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

The dress that you wore, precious darling, 

I stitched it with many a song, 
How little I thought you would wear it 

The beautiful angels among; 
Bright roses were laid 'cross your bosom, 

And clasped in your dear little hand. 
Oh, never was pride any fairer 

That went to the heavenly land. 

And deep was the grief of your parents, 

And many a head bowed to mourn, 
When out from the home of your father 

Your poor lifeless body was borne. 
No room in that house, precious darling, 

But where your handiwork lay, 
O God ! it was hard e'en unto Jesus, 

To give such a dear child away. 

But vain was the longing, and selfish, 

The face of our loved one to keep, 
So o'er to the graveyard we bore you. 

And left you there sweetly asleep. 
Spring beauty; arbutus, and lilies, 

Have covered the place of your rest. 
Aye, you have had all the sweet wild flowers, 

For they were the ones you liked best. 

The buttercups, daisies, immortelles, 

The clovers, the violets blue, 
The gay golden-rod in the meadows, 

Have budded and blossomed for you; 

85 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

The roses that grew on the hillside, 
You've climbed with the children to get, 

This year for your grave were they gathered, 
With many a tear were they wet. 

And all of the long pleasant summer, 

With pansy and emerald bloom, 
Your grave in the church yard's been covered, 

And whispered of life 'yond the tomb. 
For oft we have wept, precious sister. 

And grieved o'er your mouldering clay. 
Till thoughts of your spirit eternal. 

Would drive all our mourning away. 

But Hattie, we miss you, we love you, 

And long for your presence shall yearn, 
Yet know to the home of your father 

Your footsteps will never return; 
But there is a joy in the future, 

A bliss that no language can tell. 
In Heaven we'll meet ne'er to sever, 

Till then, O beloved, farewell. 



BALLAD. I LOVE YOU NELLIE. 

A comely lad was farmer John, 
As e'er my eyes had looked upon, 
And only once my path he'd crossed 
Before I found my heart was lost; 

86 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

So when I met him on the way 
I used to wish that he would say, 
I love you, love you, love you Nellie. 

"Go get some apples, Nellie dear," 
My mother'd say, the orchard's near. 
But first I'd stand before the glass. 
And make my hair a shapely mass. 
For John passed by there ev'ry day. 
And now I longed to hear him say, 
I love you, love you, love you Nellie. 

My mother sent me to the town 
To change some berries for a gown. 
To sell the fruit I quite forgot, 
And of the dress I never thought, 
For I met John upon the way. 
And this is what he had to say, 

I love you, love you, love you Nellie. 

When I reached home I thoughtless sat 
Upon my grandpa's garden hat. 
And while my quizzing brother smiled, 
My questioning mother I beguiled. 
Yet sweetly ran my thoughts this way. 
When I meet John now he will say, 
I love you, love you, love you Nellie. 

My pen has never picture drawn 
Of hapless Nell nor fickle John, 



87 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

For he has never broke my heart 
But kept his vow, we'll never part, 
And though I've been this many a day 
His wife, he often has to say, 
I love you, love you, love you Nellie. 



BALLAD. PANSIES. 

Why do my thoughts so often stray 
To her I saw but yesterday. 
While caught in meshes of her hair, 
Your purpled fragrance nestled there, 
O Pansies, Pansies? 

She dwells in lofty fashion's throng, 
Nor heeds a humble poet's song; 
She never gives me word nor smile. 
And my heart aching all the while, 
O Pansies, Pansies. 

And often when I pass her by, 
On her sweet breast the pansies lie, 
'Tis well she does not look at me 
All of this hopeless love to see, 

• O Pansies, Pansies. 
****** 

I met him at the garden gate ; 
Why did I meet him, cruel fate! 



88 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FL-OWER 

A woman's pride hath bitter smart 
When 'tis not sought to give her heart, 
O Pansies, Pansies. 

And soon I met him in the glen. 
How fast my heart was beating then ! 
But haughtily I passed him by 
Without a word. Do you know why, 
O Pansies, Pansies? 

How hastily he strode away. 
And glanced not once my lonely way ; 
'Twas then I turned and looked at him 
Until with tears my eyes grew dim, 
O Pansies, Pansies. 



They met again, her cheeks a flame. 
But now he calls the maiden's name. 
His words with sweetest cadence fill. 
"I love you, scorn me if you will." 
O Pansies, Pansies. 

When love grows stronger than one's pride 
The sweet affection will abide, 
While 'gainst his happy heart's her head, 
"Dear Ralph, I love you," Agnes said. 
O Heartsease, Pansies. 



S9 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



ALICE'S SUNDAY BONNET. 

On ev'ry pleasant Sabbath day 
To church goes peaceful Alice, 

And there she often kneels to pray, 
Or drink from sacred chalice. 

This morn she stood before the glass 
And donned her Sunday bonnet ; 

'Tis quite becoming to the lass 
With dainty roses on it. 

'Twas yesterday that Robert made 

A lover's fond confession, 
For at her feet his heart he laid. 

For hers he asked possession. 

"Wilt be my wife ?" quoth Robert bold, 
This mom disdain eschewing. 

Her heart like lily did unfold. 
An answer for his wooing. 

I'll tell him yes, the lassie said. 
And in her sweet distraction, 

She took her bonnet from her head 
Unmindful of the action. 

He loves me flowetK, to her lips. 
From heart with joy o'erladen, 

While to the church she gaily trips, 
A happy, hatless maiden. 
9Q 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

When in her pew she takes her place, 

The others miss her bonnet. 
But Robert only sees her face, 

And reads his answer on it. 

The sermon done, the happy two 
Then homeward walk together. 

Just as they both intend to do 

Through all life's changing weather. 

I chance to see them at the gate, 
Lo ! Down the street he rushes, 

And not for me does Alice wait. 
Her face suffused with blushes. 

She to her room doth quickly pass. 
And there she spies her bonnet 

'Tis so becoming to the lass 
.With dainty roses on it. 



JEAN. 

If I am any judge, Tom, it ain't worth while to 

live. 
So much to be forgiven for, so many to forgive. 
The human heart is always full of longing and 

regret, 
O'er things we don't want to remember that we 

can't forget; 

91 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

And one must have a sturdy faith to see above 

the strife, 
For he who dies a peaceful death gets all the 

peace in life. 

If I have any faith, Tom, I'm 'fraid it's like a 

spring, 
Too cold and drear for budding leaves, too chill 

for birds to sing. 
I 'spose you'd think 'twas better if a man was 

'neath the sod 
Than he should live to have his faith so shaken 

in his God ; 
I know I'm say in' wicked words, but when I 

think of Jean, 
My heart is very black, indeed, if faith must 

make it clean. 

I'd stood it very well, Tom, if Jean had chanced 

to die. 
For I could gone off by myself and set me down 

to cry. 
Of course, I'd miss the bonny smile, the gay and 

happy song. 
Of course, I'd be remembering what made the 

days so long. 
But through the death of body, Tom, the life of 

soul can be. 
But sin's the death that Jeanie lives that makes 

her dead to me. 



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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

It is an awful fate, Tom, for such a darling child, 
There ain't a father in the world that could be 

reconciled. 
I've heard 'em say that living trouble closer 

gripes the breast, 
And now while grieving over Jean, I think so 

with the rest; 
For when her mother died and the dear dead 

face I see. 
To say, Thy will, not mine, be done, wa'n't half 

so hard for me. 

I was so proud of Jean, Tom, it is a parent's 

way. 
There's nothing any smarter than a child can do 

and say. 
And Jeanie was my only one, my solace and my 

pride. 
Poor child. She ne'er would be the one to quit 

her father's side; 
But when I found that she had sinned I spurned 

her from my door, 
For Jeanie's sin was death to me, the dead we 

see no more. 

Don't mind the tears that come, Tom, I always 

have to cry, 
For when I think of Jeanie I wish that I might 

die. 
'Twas such a wicked thing for me to turn my 

child away, 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

But 'twas the grief that crazed my brain that in 

my heart had sway; 
Though in her arms she bore the sign of sinning 

and disgrace, 
God knows alone how much I'd give to see my 

darhng's face. 

But 'tain't no use to talk, Tom, though pain we 
don't confess 

Lays on the heart as deep and dark as is a wilder- 
ness. 

I've talked just as the water flows that fills the 
river's bed, 

And then grown wild and uncontrolled beyond 
its banks outspread; 

But thoughts kept coming into speech to drive 
away the thought 

That I was telling you of things that better be 
forgot. 

A BIRTHDAY POEM. 

Presented to Rev. Osias Scott by his loving 
granddaughter, Laura L. Hooker. 

"Write me a birthday poem, I entreat." 
Dear Grandpa, I've complied with your request. 
Since 'twas for you I sought to do my best. 
To work for those we love makes labor sweet. 



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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

You're seventy-five. How few the hours of bliss, 
How many days of pain you must have known; 
But 'tis through sorrow countless souls have 

grown 
More fit to dwell in fairer land than this. 

Dear grandpa, does it seem so long ago. 
Since in the valley of your childhood's hours, 
You chased its butterflies and picked its flowers. 
And drank sweet joy? for there its waters flow. 

And does it seem so long since, in your youth, 
You trod the measures of its merry waltz? 
Alas! 'tis then we call the true but false. 
And in our blind way, think the false is truth. 

When in the strength and pride of manhood's 

prime, 
Over the jagged mountain steeps you trod, 
Nearing your brother, man, your Father, God, 
Was it not faith that taught you how to climb ? 

Now o'er your head so many years have rolled 
That strength has failed you, and your eyes are 

dim. 
Yet if your soul hath found the way to Him, 
You soon shall see, shall walk the streets of gold. 

If I were with you in this earthly land, 
I could not smooth the furrows deep of care, 
Nor turn the silv'ry white out of your hair. 
Nor could I still the trembling of your hand. 
, 95 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

You need no weak assistance I can give, 
For infinitely stronger's He than I, 
Who helpeth us so peacefully to die, 
By teaching us the perfect way to live. 

And yet my heart flees to you like a dove. 
And though you cannot see me anywhere, 
Dear grandpa, it is true that I am there 
In deep respect, in sympathy and love. 

May this reflection glad and cheer the heart, 
Although our dwelling place be far from thine, 
In Heaven there is a home that is divine, 
Where friends shall dwell together ne'er to part. 

Like some sweet song that we sing o'er and o'er 
And never tire of, this dear thought can be, 
Earth is but time, but Heaven's eternity; 
Grief's for a while, but bliss forever more. 

Although each earthly joy has taken flight. 
The last of earth is like the dawn of day. 
The bright stars, one by one, do fade away. 
When lo ! the sun is risen, all is light. 



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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



THE AMERICAN ARMY OF TWO.* 

Haughtily into Boston Bay 
Sailed a British ship one day; 
Parting the waters with a sweep, 
Leaving the trough behind her deep, 
Flaunting her flag in such a style, 
Just to see her was worth the while. 
Lo ! She's dropped her anchor down ! 
What does she want in this small town !f 

These poor fishermen on the coast. 
Neither of wealth or of power can boast. 
Their small boats ne'er sail away 
Out of the bounds of Boston Bay; 
They've no stately glittering domes, 
Only their lowly cottage homes. 
All their treasures their children's love, 
And that of their faithful Friend above. 

But look now at that ship of war ! 

What has she manned her big boats for ! 

Never before in Boston Bay, 

Was seen a sight that was half as gay. 

Looking so fine those brave red coats, 

Sit up straight in their new boats, 

Each man having a nice new gun 

That flashes and shines in the morning sun. 

*A Story in Verse. 
tA place a little way from Boston, 

97 
LOFC. 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

At such a noble and grand array. 
What can the fishermen have to say? 
And pray what can the fishermen do 
With only a rusty gun or two? 
There's nothing at all as anyone sees. 
To hinder them doing as they please. 
So straight they go, these brave red coats. 
To burning up the fishermen's boats. 

Two little girls, not far away, 

Seeing the ship, paused in their play, 

Climbed in a tree to get a view, 

And see what the British meant to do. 

"Oh !" said Becky, "If I aint mad ! 

Wish I'd a gun ! I wish I had ! 

I'd aim at each of those fellow's heads. 

And shoot, and shoot, till they all were dead." 

"My!" said Janie, I'll tell you what, 

A gun is something we haven't got. 

But I'll take the fife and you the drum. 

And we'll scare them a little, come on, come!'* 

Fiercely the red-coats worked that day, 
Burning the boats in Boston Bay ; 
Weren't they having valorous fun! 
They'd have some more when that was done. 
They'd put the American spirit down, 
If they had to burn the fishermen's town. 

Hark ! There sounded a martial strain. 

That Yankee Doodle tune, strong and plain, 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Drum ! drum ! drum ! what a terrible roar ! 
Nearer and nearer it comes to the shore. 
The British braves heard the fife and drum 
And thought that the Boston troops had come. 
Hurriedly fly the brave red coats, 
See them climbing into their boats! 
Plying their oars with the maddest haste. 
For they by the army of two are chased! 
They said no word, and they fired no gun ; 
When Becky and Jane saw what they'd done, 
They threw the fife and drum aside, 
Sat on the shore and laughed till they cried. 

But look now at that man of war ! 
What is she hoisting her anchor for! 
She's going to leave us! sure enough! 
Isn't she manned with solid stuff! 
To let those two little bright eyed chits, 
Nearly frighten them out of their wits ! 
Well ! well ! their forces never would do. 
To face an American army of two. 
Of course it is better to be left whole 
Than cut to pieces from crown to sole, 
Cut to pieces and thrown away 
For the fish to eat in Boston Bay. 



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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 
TRUST. 

I do not doubt my Maker, God, 

I trust his word. 
Though I must bow to Sorrow's rod, 

Joy long deferred. 

I do not doubt that Father's love 

And care for me; 
'Tis He who guides me from above 

Through agony. 

'Tis He who cheers me while I sup 

With grief and care. 
And when my cross is lifted up. 

Its weight He'll bear. 

AH things He doeth are well done. 

Though dim my sight; 
I know I am the erring one, 

And He the right. 

But I alone am weak, indeed, 

His help's my power; 
And Hope's sweet ministry I need. 

Through life's short hour. 

Then I will wait the smiling day. 

In Jesus' name; 
But if forgetful night should stay, 

I'll trust the same. 
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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE. 

Long the heroes of Lundy's Lane, 

In the strife had been engaging, 
Piled the valley was with the slain, 

And still the battle was raging, 
Oh ! war is a terrible thing to blight 

Our joy, and deepen our sorrow. 
For many a son shall fall to-night. 

And the mother's tears to-morrow, 

"See !" said Ripley, "they win the fight ! 

They slaughter our men like cattle ! 
Could you gain the battery on yon height, 

We'd be winners in the battle!" 
"Then," said Miller, "Sir, I'll try." 

And he drew his proud form higher. 
Flashed their bayonets, but his eye 

Flashed with a purpose's fire. 

Steadily up the hill they went. 

Colonel Miller was leading. 
Many a noble breast was rent. 

Many a form fell bleeding; 
Silent and swift the ranks closed in. 

Leaving the dead and dying. 
Onward they pressed. They win ! They win ! 

See the enemy flying! 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Quickly the guns were turned about, 

And fired at the men retreating, 
Many a brave man marked their rout. 

Many a heart ceased beating ; 
Thrice they rallied, and thrice fell back. 

Before the terrible thunder, 
For their own canon followed their track. 

And rended their lines asunder. 

Honor to Miller! Let his name 

Shine with a hero's glory; 
Print it deep on the rock of fame, 

Tell the children the story. 
Teach them that ev'ry hill and plain. 

And all of the dashing water, 
Was bought with the dying soldier's pain. 

On the dreadful field of slaughter. 

TELL HIM NO. 

I know his heart is wholly mine. 

And although he has never said 
A word of love, I think he will 

Some time be asking me to wed. 
Suppose he asks me if my heart 

With love's bright flame was e'er aglow, 
Say, Echo, would you answer, yes, 

Or would you rather tell him no? 
And Echo answered, tell him no. 

m 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Suppose that he will not believe 

That I that cruel answer mean. 
And in my eyes he says a "y^s," 

Through coming tears is plainly seen; 
Suppose he asks me then to wed, 

And sweetest names doth whisper low. 
Say, Echo, would you answer, yes. 

Or would you rather tell him no? 
And Echo answered, tell him no. 

Suppose he clasps me in his arms. 

And to his loving faithful heart, 
And says, O darling can it be, 

That thus my fondest hopes depart ? 
Then kisses me so tenderly, 

And sadly whispers, "shall I go? 
Say Echo, would you answer yes. 

Or would you rather tell him no? 
And Echo answered, tell him no. 

Suppose he says, I've asked you once 

To wed, but if I ask you o'er. 
Say darling, do you think that you 

Will answer as you did before? 
Suppose my heart is throbbing wild 

With happiness, I love him so ; 
Say, Echo, would you answer yes. 

Or would you rather tell him no? 
And Echo answered, tell him no. 



loa 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

A FRAGMENT. 

The jocund Spring has nearly flown,, 
The buds to fragrant leaves have grown, 
The shining grass lifts up its head, 
And violets their perfume shed. 
While sweet wild woods do gaily ring 
With happy songsters caroling. 
And 'neath the branches Flora weaves 
A carpet soft of flowers and leaves; 
The meadow daisy, half awake. 
Longing the wondrous chain to break 
That binds her in her narrow cell. 
Remembers not that all is well. 
But sighs for life above the sod 
Where nature ever praises God. 
The river hears the daisy sigh 
And whispers softly, "Lullaby, 
Rest, little daisy, rest thee yet. 
Till other summer buds are set. 
For in the merry summer's prime 
Is thy appointed blos'ming time." 
E'en so in sunshine gay hearts bask. 
While we in shadow find our task ; 
Fate's prison bars we cannot break 
No more than can the daisy wake 
Before its time. Its summer'll come, 
And so will ours, so hearts be dumb 
In our complaint. All will be well 
In God's good time; He will dispel 
Our sadness as the morning mist 
Dispels when by the sunbeams kissed. 
104 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



A CHRISTMAS POEM. 

I am the angel come to see 
How happy Christmas time would be, 
And I have heard the marriage-bell 
Go ringing through the snow clad dell, 
I've heard the little children's glee 
Over their shining Christmas tree, 
I've heard the sound of dancing feet. 
The organ's music deep and sweet 
In holy hymn, or sacred chant, 
Of Christ who came the earth to bless ; 
But sounds and sights my bosom haunt 
Out of the realm of happiness. 

I've seen wee children cling forlorn 
To mother on her burial morn, 
And heard an aged father pray 
Whom faithless son had turned away, 
I've seen an anxious mother wait 
The laggard footsteps at the gate, 
And when they came her yearning face 
Bespoke, so tenderly, disgrace. 

Down where the lake so deep and still 
Mirrors the poplars on the hill. 
And scents the drooping flowers, there came 
A fair young girl, bowed down with shame ; 
Close to the lake her garments sweep, 
And now, O God! the fatal leap. 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

I shuddered, turned away, and fled. 
Staid not to look upon the dead 
And haggard face that upturned there, 
So agonized, so sad, so fair. 

Within a prison's dismal cell, 

Where every sound struck like a knell, 

I saw a murderer kneel to pray, 

God ! great God ! I heard him say 
Forgive ! forgive ! in Jesus' name ! 
(Oh wild remorse devouring flame) 
Can such as I e'er be forgiven, 

Or shall my soul to hell be driven? 

1 walked upon a battle field. 
And by a dying soldier kneeled, 

His quiv'ring breath came quick and low 
While he lay moaning, moaning so; 
His country's flag lay cross his breast. 
His hand upon the staff was prest. 
And from his trembling lips there came 
The sound of some beloved name. 

Such are the sights that I have seen. 
And such the sounds that came between, 
And oh, my tears have fall'n like rain, 
To see the world so full of pain; 
So many 'neath sin's dreadful wave ; 
O Earth! how great would be thy loss 
But for the pain, upon the cross. 
Of Christ our Lord who came to save. 

106 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



FOR VELMA'S ALBUM. 

Dear Velma, your young life and mine 

Are like two rivers flowing, 
That ribbon 'cross sequestered vales 

And know not where they're going ; 
But God doth witness ev'ry place 

Where ev'ry ripple quivers, 
And He can see our future ways, 

Well as He can the river's. 



THE SAD STORY. 

Harry, you say I look as sad 
As hero shorn of glory; 

I own I'm feeling rather bad, 
Sit down and hear my story. 

One day sly Cupid came to me 
And asked me for an arrow, 

He said that it would seldom be 
That he would want to borrow. 

But if I'd lend it he should see 
Me paid upon the morrow. 

I did not think, and so, ah me ! 
I lent it to my sorrow. 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

I watched the sly rogue with the dart, 

And as I watched relented, 
He aimed it at a maiden's heart 

And coolly smiling sent it. 

Alas ! I could not sleep at night, 
The days grew long and dreary. 

My spirits that had been so light, 
Grew sad, despondent, weary. 

And something in my heart caused pain, 
'Twas one of Cupid's arrows, 

(But surely I cannot complain 
He pays for what he borrows.) 

You smile. Pray listen to the end. 
Till this sad tale's completed. 

Then if you smile I'll know a friend 
To the foe's camp's retreated. 

It is quite sad. You'd let it pass 
You say and laugh, why Harry ! 

I've popped the question to the lass 
And in a week must marry. 



xei 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



THE ^OLIAN HARP. 

My sweet aeolian harp, my little treasure, 
Though always quite uncertain what thy measure. 
Thy sad or joyous singing is to me 
Softer than written music e'er could be ; 
Close to my heart are vexing shadows pressed, 
Sing me a song of Heaven and of rest. 

THE SONG. 

How green the turf is underneath our feet. 
How gay the flowers in countless numbers spread, 
How sweetly hills and heaven seem to meet, 
How deep and blue the sky is overhead. 
How bright the clouds, like fairy pictures drawn, 
While their white waves go drifting, drifting on ; 
This is the home to sinning mortals given, 
But brighter, fairer is the home called Heaven. 



O, sweet aeolian harp, art thou enchanted? 
Or are thy strings by angel's fingers haunted? 
Or is the breeze that sweeps across thy strings 
Created by a soul just taking wings 
To soar up to the realms where angels are? 
O, Sing again ! sing now of Bethlehem's star. 

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ONLY. 'A WAYSIDE 'ELOWER 



THE SONG. 

O holy one of earth. 
How lowly was thy birth! 
Thy kingly form it lay 
Hard pillowed on the hay, 
While close beside thy head 
The staring oxen fed. 
And Mary to her breast 
Her baby Saviour prest, 
And Jesus called its name. 
To worship wise men came. 
From Eastern land afar 
Sure guided by a star. 
That shining before them 
Stood low by Bethlehem. 
O blessed, blessed light! 
Thou shinest yet by night. 
Thou shinest, too, by day. 
And will shine aye and aye. 
To guide the wand'ring one 
To Christ, Our Father's Son. 



O sweet seolian harp, my unskilled fingers 
Over the organ keys will often linger. 
But thy sweet song, so like a magic spell, 
Has shamed my purpose sometime to excel: 
Thy music purest gold, and mine but dross, 
O sing again ! sing to me of the cross. 

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ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

THE SONG. 

In what anguish 
Christ did languish 
And did toss 
On the cross! 
While his head with thorns was crowned. 
Hands and feet with nails were bound. 
Hear the wicked Jews deride ! 
See the thief on either side ! 
One reviles. 
Yet Christ smiles, 
For one pleads 
All his needs, 
And Christ answers, "Thou shalt be 
Soon in paradise with me." 
Now his eyes in death are fading; 
Hear his murderers upraiding! 
Hear their loud huzzas and jeers ! 
See them pierce him with their spears! 
Till the cup that passed not from Him 
By its woful poison won Him. 
Thus to save us thou has died, 
O Thou Holy Crucified. 



Be still ! for pain's dart in my heart is driven, 
He suffered thus that I might be forgiven? 
Oh, tenderly and sweetly thou hast played, 
But now be still, till I have knelt and prayed, 
Am I a Jew that mocketh yet at Thee? 
O Holy Crucified! forgive Thou me. 

Ill 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE ELOWER 



XENOPHON. 

Those school-masters of olden time 

Were instant in decision, 
And slated sums could not demand 

More stubbornly precision. 
No school bell trappings, 
Just ferule rappings, 

Brought silence in a second. 
And woe to those who after spoke 

Or even smiled or beckoned. 

'Twas then the roll-call itemized 

Officially each scholar, 
.With tardy ones and absentees 

To decimate its dollar 
'Twas a particular. 
A perpendicular 

Meant absent from the session. 
When crossed it indicated late, 

A questionable possession. 

Once on a time a total school 

Reiterated present, 
The room seemed full of daffodils 

The master was so pleasant 
Till mirth's emotion 
Caused great commotion 

In Lucy's seat that morning ; 
To swift command she is a trice 

The dunce block was adorning. 
lis 



ONLY A WAYSIDE ELOWER 

Now Lucy was a girl of nine, 

Without much erudition. 
In other studies fair to good 

But spelling her ambition. 
Since she's refractory 
Too satisfactory 

Her speller for inspection 
The master argued, so he gave 

Her "tables" for reflection. 



How slowly dragged the time along! 

While Lucy's cheeks were burning 
She joined her classes to recite, 

To dunce block then returning; 
Till in their places 
With smiling faces 

The spellers stood. Aggression 
Filled Lucy who was at the foot 

From leaving off last session. 



And now a constant rain of words 

The pupils fell to drinking, 
Some drank their portions easily, 

And some with desperate thinking. 
The vocabulary 
Made things stationary 

With Xenephon advancing. 
"Z e n, zen, i f u n." 

Spelled big Erastus Lansing. 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Now "Rast" was standing at the head, 

"Next," said the teacher frowning. 
*'Z e n o / M double n," 

Said Margarita Browning. 
"Nell Denison, 
Spell Xenophon." 

The master's voice was shaking, 
"T/?z e n, thzen, e f u n." 

Lisped Nell with great pains taking. 



"Not right." The word passed on to Jane, 

To Antoinette, and Vernon, 
To that tow-headed Sarah Wim, 

And that thick-head, Algernon; 
Each spelled and missed it. 
For each insisted 

That z was the first letter. 
And blundered on in various ways 

That were not any better. 

You should have seen Hugh Tagget's face 

Scowl 'bove his lofty dicky. 
Where vexing thoughts were breaking through 

About that word so tricky ! 
Ambitious Cyrus, 
To spell desirous. 

Ceased his impatient waiting 
"Z e double n ? u i u n f 

E ?" thus interrogating. 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

'Twas Lucy's turn, and Lucy spelt, 

Her eyes were brightly shining, 
Came dancing from her happy lips 

Right letters right combining. 
And swift retreated 
His march completed, 
"X e n o p h o n." 

How sharp the letters sounded. 
While tripped blithe Lucy to the head, 

The master stared dumbfounded. 



'^ 



MY CHILD IS DEAD. 

Sing, brooklet, to the jocund earth, 

Go laughing to the sea. 
But ask me not to join thy mirth, 

Nor sing thy songs to me ; 
My Child is dead. Thy happy lay 
Cuts like a sword while grief has sway. 

Green leaves, by wind so softly stirred, 

Dance in the sunset light, 
Within thy nest, O twitt'ring bird. 

Repeat thy blithe good-night ; 
And sunset cloud, deepen thy red. 
But not for me- — my child is dead. 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Flower of fragrance and of grace, 

Thou hast the smiHng sky. 
But to my darling's little face 

Mine eyes have said good-bye; 
Thou hast the dews, 'neath coffin lid 
The freshness of my life is hid. 

glimm'ring day, quiver and fade. 
And leave me with the night, 

By tears my bitter grief's betrayed 

'Neath thy fainting light. 
My child is dead; I should not weep 
Since he so peacefully doth sleep. 

Shut now thy fold, O, Shepherd Night, 
The stars, thy flock, are home. 

The moon, thy bride, with modest light 
Flits through the azure dome. 

My child is dead; thy stars grow dim, 

1 look at them but think of him. 

O, Time, upon thy changing sea. 

We meet, we love, we part; 
But yesterday I sailed in glee. 

To-night with shipwrecked heart 
Lashed to Life's deck, the storm so wild, 
I sail thy sea without my child. 

Between us is the earth's green sod, 

Yet shall my heart be blest, 
He slumbers in the arms of God 

For me remains that rest. 
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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

My child is dead, and yet I see 
Gou made, God loves, God pities me. 

For me the birds coo in their nests, 

For me the brooks do sing, 
For him whose hands lay 'cross his breast 

The rose is blossoming; 
And we shall live when sun crowned day. 
And star crowned night have passed away. 



THE DAY WE WENT TO THE PICNIC. 

Come, ye old folks, and hear my song, 
It is about myself and John, 
And of our love so pure and strong, 
And what we said at the picnic. 
Oh, the birds all sung, 

And the sky was blue. 
And we were as young 

As once were you. 
And I gave him my "promise true" 
The day we went to the picnic. 

His voice was low, and yet I heard 
"Bess, I love you." Each tender word 
Made glad my heart as blithesome bird, 
The day we went to the picnic. 

iir 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

I was more than fair 

In my snow-white gown. 
And my braided hair 
Was a silken brown, 
So sweet a lass his life would crown 
For John said so at the picnic. 

Now, ye old folks that hear my song, 
Within your minds do mem'ries throng; 
And did you ever talk like John, 
Or act like me at a picnic? 

Oh, he softly said 

"Will you wed me, Bess ?" 

And I hung my head. 
But I must confess 
I'd not say no, so I said yes. 
The day we went to the picnic. 



THE SECRET OF HAPPINESS. 

Why art thou so happy, I asked a fair maiden 
Whose song was as blithe as the merriest 
bird's ; 
Thy heart with life's sorrow must lightly be 
laden, 
While setting such music to musical words. 

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ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

It seemeth to me that bright sunshines complete- 
ness 
No shadow of thy heart doth ever eclipse. 
The brown eyes looked up, and a smile of such 
sweetness 
Played tenderly over the roseate lips. 

"Oh, yes," she replied, "I have tasted of sorrow, 
In past and in future may e'en drain the cup; 

Yet mingles no sadness with dreams of the mor- 
row. 
Nor yet with the past will I sit down and sup. 

Though skies may be cloudless and blue in the 
morning, 
And we sailing placidly over life's sea. 
Though tempests may gather without giving 
warning. 
And night doubly darkened our portion may 
be, 

To keep to the wheel and be steadily gazing 
Afar for the light that may guide and may 
save, 
Will bring our reward in the shout we'll be 
raising 
Like mariners freed from a watery grave. 

Though sorrow with joy alternates at present. 
The present, e'en thus, must be passingly fair 

119 



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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Just like a meadow when day is half pleasant 
And alternate sunshine and shadow are there. 

The honey bee seeketh its food from the clover, 
Though bitterest herbs may be blooming be- 
side; 

We may, while we wander the field of live over, 
Be gath'ring but roses though rue doth abide." 



LOTTIE ALLEN. 

"Ollie," my wee brother said, 
"See! this little bird is dead." 
Close he held it half afraid, 
Then within my hand 'twas laid. 
Climbed he then upon my chair. 
With his soft hand stroked my hair, 
"Ollie," my sweet brother said, 
"Tell where birds do when a's dead. 
Then I answered, Josie, dear. 
This wee life is ended here. 
For the birds can never fly 
Up to Jesus when they die. 
"Ollie !" In my face he gazed. 
Half reproachful, half amazed, 
Then, with face against my own. 
Told to me in tender tone 
Told the "tory" he had heard 
Of the Heaven of the birds; 

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ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Though in other words maybe, 

This is what he told to me: 

'Tis a bright and lovely place, 

Lighted by His holy face, 

There do merry fountains play, 

Laughing brooks do dash away, 

All the flowers of earthly air 

Shall again be blooming there, 

And their fragrance sweet shall rise 

To the ever cloudless skies, 

All the birds on earth that sing 

There again shall plume their wings, 

And their happy pinions try 

In the beautiful blue sky, 

In the fountains they shall dip, 

Of the honeyed flowers sip 

And their joyous singing blend 

In a Heaven that hath no end. 



Little Lottie, precious one, 
Like the bird her life is done; 
Folded in a peaceful way 
Shall her hands be night and day, 
'Gainst the darkness of her hair 
Shall her face lie white and fair. 
Closed her eyes be, and her breath 
Silent in the clasp of death; 
In that home made desolate 
Father, mother, long may wait, 

1«1 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

But her lips no more shall frame 
Either dear beloved name. 
They will miss her for awhile, 
Miss the voice, the step, the smile; 
At remembrance of her face 
And her childish, pleasant ways 
Often will the teardrops start, 
And within the aching heart 
God himself alone will know 
How the days will pile their snow, 
And the twitter of the spring 
Be a sweet remembered thing. 
Parents for your lost child weep, 
'Tis not wrong, your sorrow deep, 
Christ the sisters did not chide 
When their darling brother died. 
He, The Lamb of Bethlehem, 
Bowed his head and wept with them, 
For your child 'tis right to grieve. 
Yet how sweet 'tis to believe 
That loved story that they tell 
Of the land where she shall dwell; 
My pen hath not power to trace 
A resemblance of that place. 
But 'tis beautiful, I know, 
God's dear presence makes it so. 
Parents, have you cried forgive? 
Do you hope through Christ to live? 
Then lift up your hearts and sing 
Of the nearness of the spring, 

123 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Peaceful never ending day 
When you, too, shall pass away. 
And upon that happy shore 
Meet your darling child once more. 



SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

What if the day is pleasant, 

With nothing else in view 
Within the smiling heavens 

But brightest, fairest blue! 
What if the sun is shining 

With radiance warm and bright! 
All this can bring no comfort 

When hearts are wrapped in night. 
If merry sunshine's in the heart, 

No matter what's the weather ; 
But hearts in pain, and sunny skies, 

Make only pain together. 

What if the clouds are lowering 
And shutting from our view 

The sun so brightly shining, 
The sky of smiling blue ! 

What if the darkness gathers 
A stormful, starless night! 

103 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

All this can cause no sorrow 

When hearts are wrapped in light. 

When blithesome sunshine's in the heart, 
No matter what's the weather. 

For hearts of joy and cloudy skies 
Make only joy together. 



A LITTLE BOQUET. 

First, here are two fragrant white lilies, 

The fairest of all I could get, 
Entwined with a sprig of fresh laurel 

For Washington and LaFayette. 

The lilies are types of the pureness 
Of men that were true to their trust, 

A symbol's the laurel of glory, 

Which never shall crumble to dust. 

Though out from the dark Revolution 
A peace came enchantingly bright. 

They saw not the star of the morning 
Who sunk in the depths of the night. 

So next with some leaves of the willow 
Forget-me-not flowers I have tied. 

The willow's for those then left mourning, 
The flowers speak for those that had died. 

124 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

And lastly, with branches of olive, 

A beautiful rose I have bound. 
The rose is our love for those heroes, 

The Olive's the rest they have found. 

And see ! 'round them all how I've fastened 
A ribbon of red, white and blue, 

Who'll find on Columbian Free land 
A love knot more tenderly true ! 

O, yes, there's a spot on the ribbon. 
The stain cf a tear-drop I trow. 

It fell when I thought of the soldiers 
That left blood-stained tracks on the snow. 

I know they'll want flowers in the city 

Columbia's centennial day, 
Perhaps if I thought 'twould be welcome 

I'd carry this little boquet. 



PICTURES. 

A mother knelt beside her little child, 

Its breath was tremulous, its eyes were dim. 

Her heart was stubborn in its anguish wild, 
She could not yield her darling up to Him; 

Her face bespoke the burdens of her prayer, 

O, God! I cannot yield her, Thou must spare. 

1S5 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

The angel Death was hov'ring very near, 
His flutt'ring wings had stirred the baby's 
hair, 

He, pity stricken, wiped away a tear 

When he had read the mother's silent prayer; 

Then doubting stood, like shadows o'er the day, 

And then alone he swiftly sped away. 

But soon before me spread another scene — 
A fair young mother tossed her baby boy 

With smile for smile, and kisses sweet between, 
Until her face grew radiant with joy; 

No words were spoken, doth not silence bless 

When we are speechless in our happiness! 

The angel Death had flitted in unseen. 

And from the child and mother stood apart; 

But now its shad'wy wings do fold between 
The tiny darling and a breaking heart; 

And misty curtains o'er it all do creep. 

The while he lulls her child to endless sleep. 

Again the curtains rose and brought to view 
The dewy brightness of a peaceful place, 

Midst sheeny vesture of ethereal blue 

With glory shining was the Saviour's face; 

And at immortals so devinely fair 

I gazed and, lo! the little child was there. 

And still another view before me lay ; 

The same sad mother I, at first, had seen, 
126 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Her hair then raven was now bleached to gray, 
For many seeming years had rolled between, 
And by her side a graceful maiden stood. 
The babe of then grown now to womanhood. 

But why so tear-stained was the mother's face? 
And why her brow so marred with thorns of 
care? 
There must have been some trouble, some dis- 
grace. 
That had so left its dreary impress there, 
That had within those beautiful dark eyes 
Imprinted such reproachful, sad surprise. 

Her child had wandered from the path of right. 
And tasted poison in sin's dark retreat; 

Alas! so many flowers look pure and bright 
That are rank poison if we touch or eat; 

The gilded cov'ring of the book of sin 

Doth never tell the precepts found within. 

I cannot say my fancy did not roam 

To cull these pictures for my working brain; 

And yet I know death saddens every home. 
That human hearts e'en bear a wilder pain. 

The one good path too few are walking in 

So luring are the artful paths to sin. 



1S7 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 



THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH. 

Come, give me your hand, brother, let us be 

friends. 
And promise that now all the bitterness ends. 
With all of our strife and dissension forgot, 
Now let us have peace, in both, action and 

thought; 
Why keep we thus broken our family band? 
Come, give me your hand, brother, give me your 

hand. 

Our sires fought together, together they fell, 
To win the dear Country we both love so well; 
And now should its safety so precious decline 
Would not your heart be just as loyal as mine? 
Would we not, side by side, stand guarding our 

land? 
Then give me your hand, brother, give me your 

hand. 

Our battles are over. O, brother, resign 
Yourself to a vict'ry God-given, though mine. 
Would it had been granted some different way 
Than drenching our homes in the battle's red 

spray. 
Our dead lie commingled on your sunny land. 
But give me your hand, brother, give me your 

hand. 



138 



ONLY 'A WAYSIDE TLOWER 

In union is truth that will lead us up higher, 
Disunion is false, and if scathed in its fire 
Then woe to our living, and woe to our slain. 
For living and dead have both suffered in vain; 
Since "divided we fall," but "united we stand," 
Come, give me your hand, brother, give me your 
hand. 



TO ISABEL. 

O, beloved, faithful friend, 

Gone from earth life evermore, 
I have missed your face to-day 

As I never have before; 
For I've been in your old home 

Where your dear form used to be, 
But a stranger clasped my hand. 

You came not to welcome me. 
Oh, I wandered through the rooms. 

Seeing no familiar things. 
Only when your little dove 

'Gainst the window brushed its wings. 

When within the coffin laid. 

With your white hands o'er your breast, 
How I missed you, though I saw 

A sweet maiden gone to rest. 

139 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

'Tis a year since your bright wings 
Fluttered 'gainst the Heavenly shore, 

But I've missed you more to-day 
Than I ever have before. 

I have missed you from the group 

When our mates have chanced to meet, 
I have missed you from the choir — 

Was your voice or smile more sweet? 
But in your deserted home 

Falls the shadow more and more, 
I have missed your voice to-day 

As I never have before. 

I have missed your kindly smile 

When another turned away, 
I have missed your clasping hand 

When my own unclasping lay, 
Those dear hands I shall not see 

Reaching to me any more. 
Ah! to-day with aching heart 

This drear change I've pondered o'er. 

How my mind went fleeing back 

To the bright days in the past. 
And I said all earthly joy 

Shall be but a grave at last; 
Then I sat me down and wept, 

Till my eyes could weep no more. 
For I missed you, Isabel, 

As I never have before; 

130 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Oh, I wandered through the rooms. 

Seeing no famihar things, 
Only when your little dove, 

'Gainst the window brushed its wings. 



ALLAWIER. 

"Yes, I'll give thee back thy troth," 

Calmly answered Allawier, 
And with all a woman's strength 

Steeled herself without a tear, 
"And for binding thee so long, 

If forgiveness makes amends, 
I will ask thee to forgive. 

Hoping we are parting friends." 

So the billows of Life's sea 
Bore him far away from thee, 

Allawier. 

Was that all? When we have laid 

Loved ones in the silent tomb 
Do we dry our bitter tears 

Hast'ning from the path of gloom? 
In her chamber, Allawier 

Knelt in agony of prayer. 
Which within her throbbing heart 

Turned to wailings of despair. 

in 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Thou are on life's roughest sea, 
God who made thee pities thee, 

Allawier. 

Flashing diamonds, dewy pearls. 

Shine with costly drapery. 
While around the lighted hall 

Glide the dancers merrily. 
And the music's magic spell 

Warms the heart like a caress. 
Ah! and doth the merry dance 

Woo her to forgetfulness ? 

No, upon thy life's drear shore. 
Sob its waters more and more, 

Allawier. 

Where they parted, there she stood. 

While she murmured words to bless 
Him who'd wrought her all this woe, 

AH this wild unhappiness. 
Ah ! ye know not woman's heart 

When she loves and loves in vain, 
God alone can tell the smile 

Cov'ring o'er wild depths of pain. 

Smiles upon thy face must be, 
Sunshine on a moaning sea, 

Allawier. 



130 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Gently lift the snowy sheet, 

Let me see the placid face, 
Ah! those lips have never drank 

From the cup of dark disgrace. 
For upon them perfect peace 

Doth so sweetly lay confessed ; 
And so calmly lay the hands 

Folded o'er the silent breast. 

What is earth when Heaven shall be? 
God who made thee cared for thee, 

Allawier. 



A POEM. 

Lo! it is autumn! the sere leave are falling. 
Where is the music I heard in the spring? 

Each little bird to its own mate was calling, 
I was so happy to hear the birds sing. 

Wee nests they made in the beautiful spring- 
time, 
And in the summer so helplessly lay 
All the young birds to be carefully tended. 
That with swift wings have now flown far 
away. 

133 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Now 'tis late autumn; the leaves are all falling, 
Where is the music I heard in the spring? 

Each happy bird to its own mate was calling; 
I am so hungry to hear the birds sing. 



SISTER JESSIE. 

Yes, do take me up, dear auntie, 
Rock me in de rocking tair, 

And I'll tell a pretty tory 

'Fore I say my evening prayer. 

Have you seen my sister Jessie, 
She dat died two days ado? 

Now she's lying in de parlor 
Wid her face as white as snow. 

In her hands she's dot some roses. 
For I picked and put 'em dare. 

Oh, her hands to look so pretty, 
Dest as if she was at prayer. 

And she smiles so bery sweetly, 
Dat I've been and tissed her twice : 

But she almost freezed me, auntie, 
Wid her face as told as ice. 

184 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

I do love my sister Jessie, 

For she is so bery dood ; 
Dess, I wouldn't let you hold me, 

If my sister Jessie tood. 

But she tant, she don to Heaven ; 

Dat is what my mamma said, 
And she looked so bery sorry 

When she said, "Dear Jessie's dead." 

Once — Ion' time ado — last summer. 

Sister Jessie tried and tried, 
When she read it in a paper 

How her sojer lover died; 

Roy, he listed in the army. 

After dat he tame one day, 
And he told my sister Jessie 

How dat he must do away; 

I tan 'member dat he tissed her, 

And it almost made me try. 
And he put his arm around her. 

Den he said, "my pet, dood-by." 

After dat she tissed a picture 
When she held me in her lap, 

And I knew 'twas Roy's, Auntie, 
'Tause he wore a sojer cap. 

135 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Den it tame, dat naughty paper, 

Dat my sister Jessie read. 
And we found her in de darden 

Dest as if dat she was dead. 

Den they sent him in a tofifin, 

But it didn't look like Roy, 
Round him was a spangled banner, 

'Tause he was a sojer boy. 

After dat we didn't 'sturb her. 

Doing tareful up de 'tairs, 
But we know she missed Roy, Auntie, 

'Tause she had him in her prayers. 

Well, I am so tired bery, 

Dess I'd better do to sleep; 
Now I lay me down to slumber. 

Pray de Lord my soul to teep. 

Then with voice so deep and tender, 

This the little prattler said, 
Please, Dod, do not in the morning 

Have my sister Jessie dead. 



m 



ONLY, A WAYSIDE FLOWE'R 



A CHILD'S DREAM. 

I dreamed last night I was the sun. 

So yellow bright and fair, 
Yellow was my silken dress. 

And yellow was my hair ; 
A bunch of yellow flowers sweet. 

Within my hand I bore, 
A pretty shining yellow crown, 

Upon my head I wore ; 
I had a little golden watch 

That timed each sunny ray. 
So I was always out of bed 

Just at the peep of day ; 
I had a yellow sunflower fan, 

A yellow daisy sash. 
And like the sun I whirled and whirled. 

And bright did sunlight flash ; 
But when I woke I quickly saw 

My dream could not be true. 
For, if I were the yellow sun 

My eyes would not be blue. 



GRANDMOTHER'S LULLABY. 

Poor little Jakey Green jumped into bed, 
Blew out the light and then covered his head; 
"Boogars and bears I'm afraid of," he said, 
137 



ONLY. A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

"Boogars come close and they leer at poor Jake, 
Big bears come too, and my trundle bed shake, 
Growlity growl, and they keep me awake." 

Then came in softly dear grandmother Green, 
Lighted the lamp, so her face could be seen, 
"Boogars" ran out rnd the bears ran between. 

Grandmother's presence made safety complete, 
She shook Jake's pillow and tucked up his feet. 
Then fell to singing. Her songs I repeat. 

Towser ran out at Bo-peep with great glee. 

Pussy cat scurried and hid in a tree, 

"Mew," said the kitten, "You cannot find me." 

Happy go lucky black bumble-bee 

Cracked his gold head on an old knarled tree, 

"B-z-z-z-z-z-z-z," said he. 

Cucko laid egg in another bird's nest. 

When the young hatched one's not like the rest, 

T's, I'm puzzled, the old bird confessed. 

Down in the water I saw polliwog 

Grow and keep growing, till he was a frog. 

Then through the woods he went jogity jog. 

Old grandther-grey-beard's rest's troubled a heap 
'Cause that queer cricket goes peepity peep ; 
"Heigho," said grandmother, "Jakey's asleep." 

133 



ONLY. A WAZSIDE ELOWER 



LOIS. 

Why do I love you, Lois, Lois ? 

Why do I love you? Well you know 
Why in the deeps of the fern decked woodland 

The wild flowers are aglow. 
Lulled by the singing brook's a-glide. 
Bathed in the dews of the eventide. 
Warmed by the sun and the breeze beside, 

Dipped in the clouds of the sunset hours, 
How can they aught be, Lois, Lois, 

But dainty, dewy, and fragrant flowers? 

Turn way your face now, Lois, Lois, 

Turn way your face with those happy eyes. 
See not the cruel years before me, 

The dark where my lone path lies, 
Cursed be the hour that I dared to stay, 
See you, speak to you day by day, 
I might have known it would end this way ; 

Full of the spring, how the green leaves start, 
I cannot help it, Lois, Lois, 

I love you, love you with all my heart. 

Early the birds woke, Lois, Lois, 

Twittered and chirped, but I had not slept, 
Had they known of my heart's deep sorrow. 

They'd ceased their songs and wept; 
Swift goes the day I can love you in. 
Wedded the heart which I ne'er shall win, 



ONLY. 'A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Sweet, but I love you ; ah ! 'tis a sin. 

Lo, through the pine shade a bat just crossed, 
Bride on the morrow, O Lois ! Lois ! 

The twilight deepens, my day is lost. 



ALSIE'S REPLY. 

Sweet Alsie stood watching the lingering tide, 
Unseeing fond Burton who stood by her side. 
Until the weird notes of the ebbing waves died. 

Then solemnly spoke he, while low at her feet, 
"Though tide of the ocean doth swiftly retreat 
The tide of my love never ebbeth, my Sweet." 

She answered, "Then thou hast been winning 

new fame, 
But woe to the time that that tide ever came. 
To thee, for my heart knoweth love but by name." 

"O sweetheart. Oh, speak not so lightly !"he cried, 
"My heart is a bird that has flown far and wide. 
Yet findeth no peace only when by thy side." 

Then Alsie made answer, "bird flown from its 

nest. 
Return to thy home e'er thy wings needeth rest ; 
Thy song finds no echoing song in my breast." 

140 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

"O Alsie ! my darling ! my beautiful one ! 
Thy smile is my hope and thy love is my sun ; 
Thou shalt be my wife or my life is undone." 

"My smile is thy hope ? then thy hope sinks away, 
My love is thy sun? then thou liv'st without day, 
I tell thee," said Alsie, "my answer is nay." 

Then sorrow of heart overshadowed his face, 

Of love unrequited, life's tenderest grace, 

Ah, many have wept that have been in his place. 

Said Burton, "Thou breakest my poor heart, my 

sweet. 
And yet 'midst the seashells so heedful thy feet; 
Ah ! why all this scorning of thine must I meet ?" 

"Oh follow," she answered and led him away, 
Where seashells ne'er scattered nor tide ever lay. 
But where a lone tombstone stood silent and gray. 

"Drear plot, here a mother's feet often have trod, 
Her prayers have ascended, her tears wet the sod, 
O'er spirit so darkened that went to its God. 

Because of thy sin had its purity fled. 
Because of thy falseness she blindly had sped 
Through dying, false Burton, oh, think of the 
dead. 

Thou hast broken one heart, thou hast broken one 
vow, 

141 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

And I know by the turf that lays over her brow 
Then a serpent thou wast, and a serpent art now. 

Thou ask'st for her heart and she gave, and lo ! 
Thou scourg'st with sin, and thou fill'st it with 

woe 
Canst thou have my love? I have answered thee, 

no." 

Then waving her hand toward the turbulent sea, 
"Afar are its most distant billows," said she, 
"Yet farther than they from us, I am from thee." 



THE BAD MARK. 

Lessons all had been recited ; 

My day's work was nearly o'er, 
And I as my watch I opened 

Saw the short hand point at four. 

Then I asked the little children 
If they'd disobeyed the rule — 

Have you whispered — when deep sobbing 
Broke the silence of the school. 

14« 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

And, with blue eyes sad and tearful 

Sweet Luella trembling said 
I have whispered, then in sorrow 

Bowed her little shining head. 

She had whispered ; my heart seeking 

For excuses found not one: 
Discipline necessitated 

A bad mark for what she'd done. 

"Please, Luella didn't mean to," 

Piped a little cheery voice, 
"This recess she came and told me 

She would keep the rule from choice." 

She forgot the rule she told me 

And was sorry as could be 
"So forgive her, please, dear teacher, 

And the bad mark give to me." 

O, the deep, the priceless value 

Of that little brother's love 
Well I know the shining angel 

Was recording it above. 

As I gave the mark to Lewis 
Since it was the lad's desire, 

But the mark with hero greatness 
As I made it seemed a-fire. 



143 



ONLY A WAYSIDE FLOWER 

Hand in hand the two tripped homeward, 
While their faces beamed with joy, 

He has grown to noble manhood 
Fulfilled promise of the boy. 



L. 



Sam S. & Lee Shubert 

direct the following theatres and theatrical 
attractions in America : 

Or- 



Lyric, Casino and Princess 
Theatres, New York. 

Garrick Theatre, Chicago. 

Lyric Theatre, Philadelphia. 

Shubert Theatre, Brooklyn. 

Belasco Theatre, Washing- 
ton. 

Belasco Theatre, Pittsburg. 

Empire Theatre, Newark. 

New Theatre, Utica. 

Grand Opera House, Syra- 
cuse. 

Baker Theatre, Rochester. 

Shubert Theatre, Provi- 
dence. 

Worcester Theatre, Worces- 
ter. 

Hyperion Theatre, New 
Haven. 

Lyceum Theatre, Baltimore. 

Lyceum Theatre, Buffalo. 

Colonial Theatre, Cleveland. 

Rand's Opera House, Troy. 

Garrick Theatre, St. Louis. 

Sam S. Shubert Theatre, 
Norfolk, Va. 

Grand Opera House, Colum- 
bus. 

New Theatre, Cincinnati. 

Mary Anderson Theatre, 
Louisville. 

New Theatre, Richmond, 
Va. 

New Theatre, Lexington, 
Ky. 

New Theatre, Mobile. 

New Theatre, Atlanta. 

Shubert Theatre, Milwau- 
kee. 



Lyric Theatre, New 
leans. 

New • Marlowe Theatre, 
Chattanooga. 

New Theatre, Detroit. 

Grand Opera House, Dav- 
enport, Iowa. 

New Theatre, Toronto. 

New Sothern Theatre, Den- 
ver. 

Sam S. Shubert Theatre, 

Kansas City. 
Majestic Theatre, Los An- 



Belasco Theatre, Portland. 

Shubert Theatre, Seattle. 

Majestic Theatre, San Fran- 
cisco. 

Mme. Bernhardt in reper- 
toire. 

E. H. Sothern & Julia Mar- 
lowe in repertoire. 

Mrs. Patrick Campbell in 
repertoire. 

Margaret Anglin in reper- 
toire. 

Virginia Harned in "The 
Girl in Waiting." 

Drina De Wolfe and 
Charles Cartwright in a 
new play. 

Cyril Maude and Winifred 
Emery in repertoire. 

Arnold Daly in repertoire 

Henry Miller in a new 
play. 



Louis Mann and Clara Lip- 
man in "Julie Bonbon." 

Guy Standing in a new 
play. 

Mary Shaw in "The Love 
That Blinds." 

Henry Woodruff in "Brown 
of Harvard." 

W. H. Thompson in "Mon- 
ey Talks." 

"A Midsummer's Eve," by 
Evelyn Greenleaf Suther- 
land. 

A new play by George 
Hazleton. 

"The Secret Orchard," by 
Channing Pollock. 

De Wolf Hopper in "Hap- 
pyland." 

Paula Edwardes in "Prin- 
cess Beggar." 



Eddie Foy in "The Earl and 

the Girl." 
Jefferson De Angelis in 

"Fantana." 
Julia Sanderson in "The 

Motor Girl." 
Marguerite Clark, in a new 

opera. 
Christie Macdonald in a 

new opera. 
"Mexicana," with Louis 

Harrison. 
"The Social Whirl," with 

Adele Ritchie, Jos. Coyne 

and Ross & Fenton. 
"The Babes and the Baron." 
"The Blue Moon." 
"Veronique." 
Peter F. Dailey in a new 

musical comedy. 
"Queen Xixi of Ix." 



The following attractions also play ex- 
clusively in their theatres: 



David Belasco's Attrac- 
tions : 
Mrs. Leslie Carter in a new 

play. 
Blanche Bates in "The Girl 

of the Golden West." 
David Warfield in "The 

Music Master." 
Bertha Galland in a new 

play. 
Harrison Gray Fiske's 

Attractions : 
Mrs. Fiske in "The New 

York Idea." 
"Leah Kleschna." 



'Therese 



At- 



Mme. Kalich in 

Raquin." 
Walter Lawrence's 

tractions : 
Henry E. Dixey in "The 

Man on the Box." 
Cyril Scott in "The Prince 

Chap." 
"Mrs. Temple's Telegram." 
Carlotta Nillson in a new 

play. 
Robert Hunter's Attrac- 
tions : 
"Before and After." 



You cannot go wrong in selecting one of 
these play-houses for an evening's entertain- 
ment in whatever city you may happen to be. 



BOOKS YOU NVST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 

Reuben: His Book 

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Broadway Publishing 0)mpany, 

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BOOKS YOU MVST READ 
SOONEH OK LATER 



Lost in the Mammoth Cave 

By D. Riley Guernsey. 
Decorated cloth, i2mo. Illustrated. 
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A tale which a Jules Verne might envy from 
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laying aside until he has read every word." 



Under the Darkness of the 
Night 

A Tale of West Indian Insurrection. 

By Ellen Chazal Chapeau. 
Cloth, i2mo. Attractively Produced. 
Price, $1.00. 
The scenes of this st^ry are laid in Ste. 
Domingue from 1792-93- It_ is a most timely 
book, written by one whose life has been passed 
among West Indians, and who can read the 
African character with surprising skill and ac- 
curacy. A wonderful picture of tropical life, 
brilliantly depicted. 
Broadway Ptiblishing: Company, 

835 Broadway, New York, 



BOOKS YOV MVST READ 
SOONER OR. LATER 

L&dy Century 

By Mrs. A. G. Kintzel.; 

'4 Drawings by Hartman) 

Decorated cover in black, red and gol3^ 

$1.50. 

Critics who have seen the book declare "it superior to 
"Leave Me My Honor," the success which has recently 
brought Mrs. Kintzel into prominence as a_ story-teller 
who has something to say and can say it 

"Sparkling from cover to cover." 



NAN «; SUE 

. Stenographers 

'By Harriet C. Cuu-ATONi) 
$1.00. 

You've iio 'doubt heard of this book! "It stands"^ 
alone in the originality of its title and subject, and every^ 
one knows how charming a subject "Nan & Sue, Ste- 
nographers," must be. It is the diary of a typewriting 
office in New York run by two young and pretty gtrbi 
who have the most amusing adventures. The book's ap-! 
pearance is as original and charming as Nan and Sue; 
themselves. 

Order now and join the procession_oiilliej;autumni 
loth edition. 



BOOKS YOU MUST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 



Why /fot Order ffotoif ? 
£velyn 

iAlStory7of the' West and "the FarjEasl,! 

By Mrs. Ansel OppfiyaEiM.; 

4 IIIus. $1.50. 

Limited edition in leather, $2.oa 

,«W 9m» b«s •pokcB «t Oil book with nnqvuUOed tema •( ^id£. 



TheX&st of the^Cav8kli«r8 

By'N.J. Floyd., 

^9 Drawings and Author*s_Photo. 

$i.So. 

/"Nowiser or more brilliant pen has told the story of 
;the Gvil War than Capt. Floyd's; no wwk more thrilling 
dimply as a romance has recently been _wi.thinthe_ reach 

of book-lovers.',' 



BOOKS YOU MUST READ 
SOONER OR LATjTr 

Mewrcelle 

A Tale of the Revolutfon 

Bv.WiLUBERT Davis and Claudia Branmoh^ 

.l2mo, cloth. Illustrated- 

$i.oa 

A''fascinaiiiig~story of the Revolutionary" periodT^n 
dramatic form, in which the treachery of Benedict 
Arnold and the capture of Major Andre are the climaxes. 
The loves of Andre and Marcelle (herself a spy) lend_a i 
very charming touch of romance. 



The Burton Manor 

A NOVEL 

By Rev. M. V. Browh. 
'l2mo, cloth. ^ $1.50. 

A~iw5st~^tiioughtfuI,~able and authoritative~"work~in) 
engaging narrative form, dealing with the existing evils 
of the liquor trade. 1 The author has wisely embodied 
his oooduaons in diarming fiction— or fact ?-~and thus, 
the book ti^Lappga^ to a pidtlic as wide ac the eontnieotj 



BOOKS YOV MUST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 



SOME MEN PAY 

Ten thousand dollars for an expert to manage their adver- 
tising. There are others who pay TWO DOLLARS for an annual 
subscription to Printers Ink — the leading journal for adver- 
tisers and business men, published every Wednesday — and learn 
what all the advertisers are thinking about. But even these are 
not the extremes reached. There are men who lose over 
$100,000 a year by doing neither one. 

Young men and women who have adn ambition to better their 
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who wish to become proficient in the art of writing advertisments, 
are invited to send me one dollar for a SIX MONTHS' TRIAL 
SUBSCRIPTION to Printer's Ink and such information as they 
may care to ask. Sample copy free. Address 



Printers' Ink Publishing Co. 

JO SPRUCE ST„ NEW YORK. 



BETWEEN THE LINES 

VIOLA T. MAXIMA 

Cloth, 13mo. Dainty in style, thrilling in contents . $1.00 
This is a story on the always interesting subject of an unfort- 
unate marriage; a story of pique and lost opportunity. 

Broadway Publishingf Company^ 

835 Broadway, New York. 



BOOKS YOV NVST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 

GREY DAWN REFLECTIONS 

By VIRGINIA BEALE LECKIE 

This clever "Washington girl has come close to 
writing the wittiest and brightest book of epigrams 
that has appeared in this epigram-mad age. A few 
samples : 

A friend lies for— an enemy about— and a wife with— you. 

If your grandfather made it in pigs you have a perfect 
right to look haughty when pork is served. 

A married woman's troubled look at 3 A. M. is not so much 
due to worrying " if" as to " how" he will come home. 

The majority of women lay the first misstep to Cupid ; some 
to the man ; but it is a fact, if open to criticism, that curiosity 
and the opportunity are often to blame. 

Printed on grey antique paper. Cover in grey, 
red, green and gold. Marginal decorations in color. 
Frontis medallion portrait of author in red, sepia and 
gold. Post-paid, $1.00. 

fi!^°What daintier holiday gift for your HIM or 
HER? 



BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 

835 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 



BOOKS YOU NVST READ 
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New Book by the Author of 

A Girl and the Devil ! 



We beg to aqnounce for autumn a new novel from 
the pen of Jeannette Llewellyn Edwards, entitled 

LOVE IN THE TROPICS 

The scene of Miss Edwards' new work is laid in 
strange lands, and a treat may be confidently prom-! 
ised the wide reading public whose interest in her first 
book has caused it to run through over a dozen editions. 

••LOVE IN THE TROPICS" 

tifill be ready about ^o-Oember t, and 
particulars tvill be duty announced. 



THe New Womawnhood 

BV WlNNIFRED H. COOLEY. 

_____ ^'-"5-;, 

^No more original, strikmg and brilliant treatise on' 
the subject indicated by the title has been given the 
vast public which is watching the widenmg of woman's 
sphere. Mrs. Cooley «s a lecturer and writer of many 
years experience; she is in the vanguard of the move-i 
ment and no one is better qualified to_^speak to the great 
heart of womankind.'' 



BOOKS YOV NVST READ 
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Told awt Twilight 

By Eva Browne. 

^delightful collection of stories and poemsl 

^Author's photo.) 

$I.OOv 



Job .Trotter^ 

By. Sylvester Fieu)l> 

.^' ufiique"work,' proving that the~ "earthly 'paradise"' 
,of Ae cdored race is Africa. This book is decidedly 
><be best w(^ that has yet appeared onthe subject.,^ 



TKe Sii\ of Ignorance 

By Henrietta SiegeL, 

$1.00. 

An exceedingly clever story, by a New York girl, who 
pictures witii a fearless hand the domesticjnisery result- 
mg from drink and dissipation. 

(4 special drawings.) 



BOOKS YOU NVST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 



Llewellyn 

A NOVEL 

By Hadley S. Kimberlino;. 

Cloth. $1.50. 

5 Illustrations by S. Klarrr 

Here'is a story whose artistic realism wilTappeal to 
everyone, while its distinction as a serious novel is made 
evident by its clever analysis, sparkling dialogue and 
thrilling and powerful situations. , "Llewellyn'^will win 
all hearts by her purity and charm, ^ 



S&taiv of the Modern World 

By E.G. Doyen.. 

}2mo, cloth, handsomely produced. 

$1.50. 

Jthf title of this book will arouse curiosityTand^ts 
brilliant contents will fully reward the wide public which 
it will reach.. 



A Missourian's Honor 

By W. W. Arnold^^ 

Ooth, i2mo. $i.oo.j 

3 Illustrations^ 



BOOKS YOV MUST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 

The Instrument Tuned 

By Rosa B. Hitt. 
Attractive Binding, 75 cents.\ 
Limited Edition in White and Gold, $l.OQ,, 
{Author's photo.) 

f^An able and interesting work on a comparatively new 
subject — Psycho-physical culture — of whose methods the 
author has made successful application. The book is full 
of common-sense suggestions and is admirably adapted 
to the needs of humanity in general. 

The chapter-captions will give an excellent idea of the^ 
comprehensive and practical character of the_work:,' 

Various Therapeutic Agents.j 

Influence of Mind. 

Extravagant Emotion^ 

Insomnia. 

Relaxation. 

Harmony the Law of NatOTfeS 



Order J^ofxf 



All of the books named in this magazine to be had 
'from any newsdealer, or 



ADIRONDACK 
MURRAY 

A. Bio^rapHical A.p pr eciat i on 

By Harry V. Radford 

Editor of "Woods and "Waters 



W. H. H. MURRAY (b. 1840, d. 1904)— equally celebrated 
as preacher, author, lecturer, sportsman and traveler — has be- 
come an immortal figure in American history and letters, taking 
rank, as a -writer, with Cooper and Thoreau. Mr. Radford — 
himself an author and sportsman of national repute, and ac- 
knowledged the greatest living authority upon Adirondack 
sport and literature — has told the wonderful story of "Adiron- 
dack " Murray from the vantage-point of personal acquaintance, 
and with a characteristic grace and charm of style that insures 
for his book permanent popularity. 



HENRY VAN DYKE 

in a personal letter written to the author from "Avalon," 
Princeton, N. J., says of Mr. Radford's book : 

"Your writing takes me back in imagination to that beautiful country of 
mountains , and rivers , and lakes , wliere so many of the happiest months of 
my early life were spent, and where I learned to cast the fly and shoot a 
rifle. It is pleasant to feel the sincere and cordial enthusiasm with which 
you write of the fine traits of Mr. Murray's character, andthe big out-of- 
door side of his life in which the best of his nature found expression. 
I congratulate you on the success with which you have performed your 
task of gratitude and friendship, and hope that your book will find its 
way into the hands of thousands of those who love the woods and the 
waters." 



10 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATrONS 

Flexible wood-green leather, with elaborate 
emblematic decoration in gold, and full gilt 
edges. By mail |i.6o 

Blue vellum cloth. By mail 60 

BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMPANY 

S3S BROADWAY, NEW YORK 



APR 4 1907 



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